Sincerely Yours
by evitamockingbird
Summary: Mrs. Bute returns to Grantham House shortly after the day at the beach and Mrs. Hughes has to return to Yorkshire. As always, she and Mr. Carson correspond, but their letters aren't quite like what they've written during past Seasons. No Season 5 Spoilers.
1. Thursday Evening

Mrs. Hughes packed her things fairly quickly. She had not brought much with her to London, so she was able to put everything in her bag in less than half an hour. Mrs. Bute had telephoned Mr. Carson right after their return from Brighton to tell him that she was recovered and planned to return to Grantham House the next day, so Mrs. Hughes would shortly be redundant and would be going back to Downton. She had known that this day would come, but she was very sorry to leave. When she had arrived at Grantham House a short time ago, she had been greeted with enthusiasm by her compatriots from Downton Abbey. Even Mr. Carson had said very sincerely that he was glad to see her. It was of course because Grantham House without a housekeeper was at sixes and sevens, but she still felt that on the whole they had welcomed her affectionately. She took over Mrs. Bute's duties as soon as she arrived and before long the house was running smoothly again. Even Lady Grantham came downstairs to see her with sincere thanks for getting everything so quickly back to normal. She was not sorry to be going back home to Downton, but she was sorry to leave London so soon.

Mrs. Hughes would remember the day the staff had spent at the beach for the rest of her life. She closed her suitcase and sat down on her bed, smiling at the memory of the lovely outing. She had waded into the water and talked Mr. Carson into joining her. Not only that, but she had offered to hold his hand and he had accepted without reluctance, much to her surprise. His hand was warm, and seemed to fit so perfectly around hers. They waded about for a little while, sometimes chatting about this and that and sometimes enjoying companionable silence, enjoying the lovely day and watching the sea bathers. It seemed almost intimate to her, their hands clasped together and their casual, conversational tones. Mrs. Hughes didn't know what it would mean for them now that they had returned to London. Mr. Carson might turn gruff with her and try to pretend it hadn't happened. That seemed the likeliest scenario. But she thought there was a small chance that he would acknowledge that their friendship had drawn them closer together than they had been before - that they meant more to each other than they had before. Ten years ago, would he have ever considered holding her hand, under any circumstances? No, she thought with a chuckle. He probably would have paced about the beach in his livery, frowning at the staff, and not going anywhere near the water. Or worse, he would have insisted on taking the reluctant staff on an outing to some museum or other. But he had taken her less than subtle suggestion of a trip to the seaside, and even seemed to enjoy himself once he was holding her hand and felt sure of his footing.

The staff had returned to Grantham House around dinnertime and Mr. Carson had asked Mrs. Patmore to serve a light supper of whatever she could find in the icebox or whip up in an hour. They had all been eating sandwiches and ices and other good things throughout the day, but they would still need a light meal before retiring. Since the whole family was dining out and would not be back until late, Mr. Carson was allowing the staff to eat out of uniform if they preferred, for which Mrs. Hughes was very glad. She felt more comfortable in her casual clothes and, although she considered it a bit of vanity, she thought she looked rather pretty. Not changing after the beach also helped her hold on to the holiday feeling of the day for a little longer. She considered going downstairs without her stockings on, but she thought that might be going a bit too far, so she reluctantly donned a clean pair, put on her shoes, and descended the steps.

In spite of his decree that the staff could stay in their beachwear, Mrs. Hughes had still expected to find Mr. Carson in his evening garb of white tie and tails, and therefore was surprised that he arrived for supper dressed in his own suit. He had put his jacket back on and slicked back every hair that had been dislodged by the wind, so he was still very put together, but he looked more casual and comfortable than usual, his cheeks still a little pink from the wind and sun. Mrs. Hughes liked this very much. She took her place at the table and waited for him to seat everyone, wondering how their conversation would play out. Once they were seated, everyone at the table broke into quiet chatter. They were all tired, but still excited about the fun of their day in Brighton. Mrs. Hughes decided to begin.

"It seems they all had a wonderful time by the sea, Mr. Carson," she remarked. "Well done."

"Well done, you, as well," he returned with a little smile. "I know you put that postcard on my notice board."

"I don't know what you mean," she demurred with a smile.

He laughed. "No one else would come into my office without permission."

"Well, you've caught me out, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes replied. "I admit it. But you still had a hand in it. You did get the final word on the outing, after all. You didn't _have_ to take us to the seaside. And you took care of all of the arrangements for the trip."

"Then we should both congratulate each other, and ourselves. They did have a good time, and so did I," he responded. "Did you enjoy yourself, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Oh, immensely!" she answered. "I especially enjoyed wading in the sea. The feel of the cool water on my feet was lovely."

"It was," he concurred. "But I don't understand how anyone could swim in that water. Much too cold!"

"I agree," she replied. "Wading in up to my knees and then walking barefoot on the sand was altogether delicious, but I don't think I could manage any more than that."

Mr. Carson cleared his throat, beginning to look uncomfortable. "Yes, most enjoyable. And a very enjoyable supper as well." He applied himself very studiously to his food now.

Mrs. Hughes went silent herself. She had to eat, after all, so there was no use in pushing him to talk. Supper was completed with no further incident and the tired but happy staff went up to their attic rooms to change into pajamas or livery, depending on their duties for the evening.

After supper, Mrs. Hughes followed Mr. Carson to his office. "Is there something you need, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked.

"Nothing I _need_, but I wouldn't mind a chat before I go to bed," she answered. "I'm leaving tomorrow, and I'd like to have a proper farewell."

"What do you mean 'a proper farewell'?"

"Oh, just a good friendly talk and perhaps a handshake or some such, if it doesn't make you uncomfortable," she suggested. "When Mr. Barrow and I depart, it would be better for our farewell to consist of just a nod and a few words."

"I see what you mean, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson replied. "Please have a seat. I'd be happy for a chat. There's something I'd like to discuss with you, as a matter of fact. Would you care for a glass of wine?"

"I would," she answered, sitting in a chair near his desk. "But how can there be leftover wine if the family did not dine at home?"

"Not leftover; I'll take it from my own personal allotment." He got up and opened one of the cabinets, which held about a half dozen bottles. "Red, white, and champagne. Would you care for champagne tonight? I wouldn't say there is anything particular to celebrate, but it might be a nice ending for this little holiday we've had."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "That's a splendid idea, Mr. Carson."

_To be continued…_

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	2. A Proper Farewell

Mr. Carson carefully extracted two champagne flutes before taking the champagne bottle out. He nudged the cabinet closed with his shoulder, set the glasses on his desk, and skillfully opened the bottle before pouring two glasses and handing one to Mrs. Hughes. There were only two chairs in his office - the one she was sitting in, and the one behind his desk, which he pulled across the floor to face her.

"A toast, Mr. Carson?"

"You will laugh, but my toast is 'To Downton'," he answered, sitting down. "I wish you well there for the rest of the Season, and I look forward to returning. I hope I will be able to come back a day early, as I've done in the past, but I'm not sure it will be possible."

"Very well," Mrs. Hughes agreed with a smile. "To Downton." She raised her glass and then drank. Mr. Carson repeated her toast and did the same.

"Mrs. Hughes, I've been thinking about a change in the arrangements for Downton when you return tomorrow."

Mrs. Hughes raised her eyebrows. "Oh? What change?"

"You're to take Mr. Barrow with you, but I thought perhaps you would prefer to take Mr. Molesley instead. I'd like to extend Mr. Barrow's training in a butler's duties. Mr. Molesley has been a butler before, so I think he is an appropriate substitute, if you agree."

"Agree!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed. "It's a marvelous plan! I think I have underestimated his value in the past, but James has made me appreciate Mr. Molesley more than I did. He is sometimes distracted, but he is not as lazy as James. And your keeping Mr. Barrow here will mean I don't have to deal with the man all on my own. I am sorry it means you will have him here, but I truly appreciate your sacrifice." She grinned.

"Did he give you trouble when he was at Downton before you came here?" Mr. Carson frowned.

"Not me directly. But from what Ivy told me earlier today, I find he's been impertinent to Tom Branson and is unhappy that he has to serve him."

Mr. Carson's brow looked even more thunderous than before. "Tell me what he's done, Mrs. Hughes. I need to know if one of my subordinates is not behaving as he should."

Mrs. Hughes took a sip of her champagne before she spoke. "He seems to think that in the 'natural order of things,' as he put it, he would be above Mr. Branson, as chauffeur, but now he has to call him 'Sir,' which vexes him to no end."

"I wonder why he thinks Mr. Branson would have still been the chauffeur so many years later, in this 'natural order of things' that he imagines," Mr. Carson scoffed. "A few years ago Mr. Barrow was a footman and now he's under butler. Why shouldn't Mr. Branson move up in the world as well? He's been a journalist and now manages the estate."

"That's an excellent point. I'm very glad to hear that your opinion of Mr. Branson seems to have improved a bit," she teased. "The other offense was reported to me by Ivy as well. I think it's worse than his complaints in the kitchen."

"Oh?"

"When he and Ivy and Mr. Branson were taking the car to the station for the journey to London, he claimed that with Ivy carrying a basket of kitchen things there wouldn't be room for both of them in the front and wanted to sit in the back with Mr. Branson."

"What?!" Mr. Carson growled.

"Mr. Branson asked Mr. Barrow if he would ask the same thing of his lordship and Mr. Barrow said that he doubted that they would be in the same car. Mr. Branson persisted with his question, but Ivy thankfully broke in, suggesting that her basket be strapped to the back of the car."

"Well done, Ivy," Mr. Carson commented. "I can't believe his cheek and impertinence! Mr. Barrow will certainly hear about this from me."

"He will suspect Mr. Branson to be the informant," Mrs. Hughes warned.

"He can suspect all he likes," Mr. Carson fumed. "I wouldn't like him to persecute Ivy when she did right by telling you. And if I keep Mr. Barrow here, he will not have the opportunity to do so, nor will he be able to attempt revenge on Mr. Branson, who will be returning to Downton tomorrow. I'll wait until you all are safely off before I speak of it to Mr. Barrow."

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "Excellent. Now could we change the subject? I am sick of Mr. Barrow and would prefer talking about something else now."

Mr. Carson's stern expression immediately changed to a smile and he chuckled. "I am sick of Mr. Barrow, as well. I wish there were some way to be rid of him. But what would you like to discuss? Your wish is my command." He nodded to Mrs. Hughes.

"Mrs. Patmore's supper was very good," she remarked, unable to think of anything more interesting and more than a little unbalanced by his easy manner. "Simple fare, but excellent all the same."

"Indeed," Mr. Carson agreed. "Bread and cheese is one of my favorite snacks, though very simple."

"Yes, a perfect meal for a tired staff. I don't envy the ladies' maids and Mr. Bates, having to stay up until the family return."

"You are almost always up just as late, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson replied. "Usually longer."

She sighed. "Yes, and so are you."

Now it was his turn to sigh. "That is true."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Are you thinking of retirement now, Mr. Carson?" she asked. "Because I don't mind saying that _I_ am. I'd love to go up to my bed right now and pull the blanket over my shoulders and go to sleep, without a care about what goes on in the house. I am quite tired. I think I would fall asleep in seconds."

Mr. Carson was a little disconcerted by her talk of her bed and blanket. Images jumped to his mind of Mrs. Hughes in her tiny bed, the sheet and blanket pulled up to her neck. It was nothing risqué, but he was thinking of her in her bed, nonetheless, which made him uncomfortable. He had never given a thought to her bed, even though she had mentioned it before, under similarly innocent circumstances. He took a sip of his champagne and studied Mrs. Hughes as she patiently awaited his answer. She probably thought he was considering her question, but really he was considering _her._ She was still wearing the blue blouse and grey skirt she had worn on the beach. He didn't dare look down to see if she wore her stockings, but she had naturally taken off the little straw hat with flowers on it. He remembered her in the sun and how her ensemble seemed to match the scene. Blue like her eyes and the sea and the sky and the stripes on his own shirt, grey like his suit, yellow like the sand and the sun.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat and tried to answer her question. "I'm not sure. Sometimes, after a long and particularly tiring day, I think it would be nice. Other times I think I would not know what to do with myself in retirement. I don't know if I could ever wake up at any other time than I do now. It might not actually be possible." He chuckled at himself.

"Oh, I suspect it's possible, Mr. Carson, though it might take some time to get out of your routine," Mrs. Hughes replied.

"But are you really thinking of retirement?" he asked uncertainly.

"Only in a general sense," she answered. "I don't have any immediate intention to leave Downton, but I know someday I will be ready to hand my keys over to someone younger and more sprightly."

"Well, I'd say most of the time you are the very definition of sprightliness, Mrs. Hughes, so I think it may be a long time yet before you hand over those keys," he answered seriously.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. That's quite a compliment."

"Nothing but the truth, Mrs. Hughes," he told her with a smile. He lifted his glass to her and finished his champagne.

Her glass was already empty. She did not want to go, but the empty glass told her she must. "Well, I must be going. I've work to do to prepare for Mrs. Bute's return. If you need anything, I will be in her office." Mrs. Hughes rose from her chair and made her way to the door.

"Wait." Mr. Carson stopped her. "What about that 'proper farewell,' Mrs. Hughes?"

She smiled. "You're right. I almost forgot." She approached him and held out her hand. He took it immediately. Mrs. Hughes thought that he would release her quickly, but he turned the back of her hand upwards and stroked it gently a few times with his thumb. She was so surprised she could barely breathe.

"Farewell, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson bade her seriously. "Travel safely. I will see you again at Downton." He placed his other hand on top of hers and patted it softly before letting her go.

She gave a little nod and a smile. "And you as well, when you board the train later this summer." Mrs. Hughes turned and left the room.

_To be continued…_

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	3. Separation

**Be sure you've read chapter 2 before you read this. This site was really wonky with notifications when I posted it. Enjoy!**

Mrs. Bute, a fair-haired woman, about forty years old, arrived during breakfast the next morning. She knew the staff would break up soon and go their separate ways, so she decided to put her things in her room. She wanted a look at the famous Mrs. Hughes, but she didn't think she could peek into the servants' hall without being seen. She was sure she would meet her soon enough. Mrs. Bute went up to her attic bedroom and found what she knew must be the other housekeeper's packed bag. There were three beds shoehorned into the room that she shared with Miss Baxter and Anna. She put her bag down, took off her hat and coat, and went back downstairs. Just as she expected, breakfast was finished, but Mr. Carson and the woman who must be Mrs. Hughes were still in the servants' hall talking to each other. Mrs. Bute felt a bit nervous. She had heard so much about the Downton housekeeper from Mr. Carson and the others and now she would be meeting her at last. She knew Mrs. Hughes to be older and a great deal more experienced than she was, and that she was well respected by the staff in general. Mrs. Bute stepped through the doorway and the butler and housekeeper both looked in her direction.

"Mrs. Bute," Mr. Carson welcomed her, rising from his chair. "It's good to see you looking so well."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," she answered. "I'm glad to be back."

"Mrs. Bute, this is Mrs. Hughes." He gestured to his right.

Mrs. Hughes rose from her seat and approached the other housekeeper. "I'm glad to meet you, Mrs. Bute. Well recovered, I hope?" she asked with a friendly smile.

Mrs. Bute relaxed a little. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes. I was staying with my brother and he took great care of me. He didn't want me returning to such busy employment until I was completely myself again."

"Quite right!" Mrs. Hughes replied. "You need all of your energy and strength for this job, especially with Lady Rose's presentation, not to mention Mrs. Levinson and the dowager countess traveling without maids."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Bute remarked. "That means a great deal of extra work for Miss Baxter, Anna, and Madge!"

"Yes. I help out when I can, but there's so much else to be done that it's not often I have a moment for it. Those three are run off their feet."

"Well, I can see you have plenty to discuss, ladies," Mr. Carson stated. "I think I'll get on with my work. Please let me know if you need help with anything." He reached the door before he turned back. "Mrs. Bute, you and I will see off Mr. Branson. He will be catching a train back to Downton in a few hours."

Mrs. Bute nodded. "Yes, Mr. Carson," she agreed as he left the room. She thought it odd that Mr. Carson would see off Mr. Branson himself, but perhaps James would be too busy with something else to do it.

"Well, shall we adjourn to your office, Mrs. Bute?" Mrs. Hughes asked. "I expect we have a few things to discuss."

Mrs. Bute gave a nod, smiling at the older woman as they walked together to the housekeeper's office.

#####

Mrs. Hughes looked out the window at the passing countryside, thinking of where she was going, and what she had left behind. She was glad that Mr. Molesley seemed equally contemplative, so there wasn't much conversation. At first he stared in front of him, seemingly deep in thought, but after about a quarter of an hour he had fallen asleep. Mrs. Hughes soon lost track of what she was watching herself, as she remembered again the lovely day at the beach. Her memories right now, however, had become a bit overcast, like the sky most of the way home to Downton. She could not think of the day at the beach without thinking of Mr. Carson and the fact that she would be without him for the next month or more. Her one consolation was the fact that in several days she could rely on receiving a letter from him. They were very regular in their correspondence. For years she had posted a letter to him every Thursday, to be received in London on Friday, and he had posted one on Monday, for her to receive on Tuesday. Today was Friday, so the pattern would begin next week with his Tuesday letter. She was never too busy or too tired to write and post her letter on Thursday, and she looked forward to his weekly letter. They didn't write of anything very personal - the business of the two houses, the books they'd read, tidbits of village gossip - but she enjoyed their correspondence nonetheless. Mrs. Hughes found herself already mentally composing her next letter to him, even though it would be nearly a week before it was time to post it. It was a pleasant enough thought that she relaxed and closed her eyes, sheets of stationery covered in Mr. Carson's writing or her own fluttering through her mind until she dozed off.

#####

Mr. Carson made it inside in time to serve luncheon after seeing off Mr. Branson. Everything went smoothly, but he felt disconcerted, a feeling not helped by the fact that he noticed Mrs. Bute once or twice glancing at him surreptitiously. He didn't suspect for a moment that she was up to no good, because even aside of her character not allowing for that sort of thing, he could only describe her expression as something between curious and concerned. He wished he knew what she was looking for; it might give him some clue to why he was feeling so odd himself. When luncheon was served he went downstairs with the intention of closeting himself in his office for several hours to try to get some work done. However, when he switched on the light, his eyes fell on the postcard Mrs. Hughes had tacked to his message board, the one with the picture of the beach at Brighton. He closed and locked the door and approached the board to look at the picture again, noticing that it was positioned exactly at his eye-level. He smiled at the image his mind conjured up of Mrs. Hughes stealing into his office while he was occupied and tacking the card up in just the right spot. She certainly had an eye for detail, so it made sense that even in this endeavor she would think of everything. Mr. Carson reached up to remove the tack and put the card away now that the outing had come and gone, but he decided to leave it for the time being and let his hand fall back to his side. The card had only been there a few days, and it made him smile to remember what an excellent idea taking the staff to Brighton had turned out to be. He could always take it down tomorrow.

_To be continued..._

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	4. A Surprise

Mrs. Hughes knew better than to expect time spent at Downton during the Season would be any kind of holiday, but she was fairly run off her feet Friday and Saturday, in spite of having only Mr. Branson to take care of. Little emergencies kept popping up, in part due to her having been away for several weeks and in part due simply to coincidence. By Saturday afternoon, however, she was beginning to feel that the house was back under her control. She was in her sitting room after luncheon working through some invoices when one of the maids knocked on her door.

"Afternoon post, Mrs. Hughes," she announced, handing several letters to the housekeeper.

"Thank you, Catherine." Mrs. Hughes went through the letters to see if there was anything she needed to look at immediately. They were all invoices, save one - a letter from Mr. Carson. She frowned. It was Saturday; she shouldn't receive a letter from him until next week. She wondered briefly if there were some emergency, but immediately realized that he would have telephoned if that were the case. Still, it seemed that there would have to be a particular reason for his deviation from routine, and she couldn't help feeling apprehensive. She sat looking at the letter for a full minute, trying to decide if she should open it now or wait until she could really be alone. All she could think of was that it was some news of a personal nature that was not urgent enough to warrant a telephone call, but that he would want her to know as soon as he could post a letter. She suspected that if this were the case, waiting until she was safely in her room tonight would be better, as there wasn't likely to be anything she could do between now and then in response to any unwelcome news, and she would rather not appear distressed when she was presiding over the staff dinner in Mr. Carson's place. The letter very slowly burned a hole in her pocket for the rest of the day, but she resisted every impulse to pull it out and open it. Even when she went to her attic room, she set it on her bedside table and got completely dressed for bed and lay down before she opened and read it.

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_I hope your trip back to Yorkshire was pleasant, or at least not unpleasant, and that you found Downton in a satisfactory state in spite of your unexpected absence. I hope Grantham House will be a calmer place now that Lady Rose's presentation and ball have taken place, but I doubt it. If we can all survive without going mad before it's time to return to Downton, I will consider the Season a success, upstairs and downstairs._

_I've just now been looking at that picture of Brighton that you put up on my notice board and though I teased you before, I really am grateful to you for making that little suggestion, and so would the staff be, if they knew. I've accepted the credit, but I'll tell them if you like that it was really your idea. I still maintain that my previous suggestions were good ones as well, but perhaps not as suited to our staff as to those with more cultured tastes - the Crawley family and you, of course, although I don't pretend to know whether you would fancy a trip to the Crystal Palace or Westminster Abbey as much as I would. I know that even had you been less than enthusiastic, I could still rely on you to behave with decorum, which might have been a more difficult goal to attain with our young ones, so I think it's best that we spent a day by the sea instead._

_We were fortunate that the weather was so fine on Thursday. It was perfect in every way. Everyone had fun, playing ball, eating ices, relaxing in the sunshine, and wading in the water. That last bit was the amusement I enjoyed the most, and I am grateful to you for encouraging me to join you. As I feared, I got my trousers a little wet, but as you promised, we dried them without mishap. Thank you again for making the outing such a pleasure for me._

_Thank you also for being so kind to Mrs. Bute. I know she was a little apprehensive about meeting the celebrated Mrs. Hughes, but you set her at ease, which will make the transition smooth. She is young, but has shown considerable talent already, and I have high hopes that she will learn and grow into an excellent housekeeper with time. Perhaps never as excellent as you, but I am not sure it is possible for anyone to reach such a goal. Still, she will move easily back into her position and will be a substantial help to me in my attempts to make the Crawleys' stay in London as pleasant and comfortable as possible._

_Do tell me how Mr. Molesley is faring at Downton. I would think he is happy to be playing the butler, since his misfortunes have induced him to take on a lower position. I imagine his white gloves are hidden away somewhere in his wardrobe, never to be seen until the rest of us return from London. I am never happy in Mr. Barrow's company, as you well know, but I am glad to give you a rest from him. I need to keep an eye on him, after all. I suspect he is up to something and I am determined to find him out._

_Sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

Mrs. Hughes read the letter twice, trying to make sense of it. Mr. Carson had to have written it within hours of her departure in order to post it in time for her to receive it today. And yet there was nothing in it that indicated at all that something was wrong. Perhaps he wrote the letter Friday afternoon planning to post it on Monday as usual, but sent it out immediately without thinking. She wasn't sure this could be the case, though. There weren't often any letters to go out from Grantham House on a Friday afternoon, so he would have had to go to the post office himself, or send James. Why would he do that? And more importantly, what would _she_ do now? Mrs. Hughes could pretend that it had arrived on Tuesday and post her own letter on Thursday as usual. However, she was tempted to respond right away. She had often wished that their correspondence was more frequent, and here was an excuse to write early. He might respond by writing again at his usual time, but perhaps a break in their routine might lead to their exchanging more numerous letters. Mrs. Hughes made up her mind to post a letter to him on Monday and see what happened. She climbed into bed and read the letter again. Mr. Carson had been more openly complimentary of her than ever before and she liked it. She wondered what his reason was, but she would try to encourage it in her own correspondence. Mrs. Hughes folded up the letter and placed it on her little table and lay down to sleep, where she dreamt again of letters.

_To be continued..._

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	5. Observation

**Make sure you have read all previous chapters before you read this. Notifications have been on the fritz lately, and stories aren't always in order by most recent update. **

Mrs. Bute worked out fairly quickly what she had observed in the past few days. She still could not assume anything from the butler's unusual behavior, but she was determined to watch him closely in the coming days. She was curious, but also concerned. Over the last few years she had developed a sort of familial affection for Mr. Carson. He wasn't quite like a father or a brother. Perhaps more like an uncle or a cousin. He _did_ remind her of a cousin of hers - a clergyman who was strict and stern, but had a warm heart underneath it all. Not many people would describe Mr. Carson as kind, but Mrs. Bute was one of them.

After seeing Mr. Carson speaking even more snappishly to James than usual, Mrs. Bute commented to Mrs. Patmore, who had also witnessed it, that she was concerned about Mr. Carson. "He seems out of sorts," she noted. "You've known him for a long time. Do you know why he might be behaving so oddly?"

Mrs. Patmore looked surprised. "Oddly? He is hard on James almost as a rule. It's hardly unusual."

"That's true, but that isn't all. He nearly snapped Anna's head off this morning for nothing."

"Did he?"

"Yes," Mrs. Bute answered. "And I think after all of these years you have probably noticed how crabby he gets during the last few days of the Season."

"That I have. But what's that got to do with his shouting at James and Anna right now? There must be a month left, at least, before we leave London."

"Well, he's acting as if it were three days before the move back to Yorkshire, but just as you say we've at least a month to go. He snaps and he shouts, but he's distracted from his duties himself, quite unusually."

Mrs. Patmore looked thoughtful. "He is, at that," she mused. "Can you make anything of it?"

Mrs. Bute kept her further observations to herself, shaking her head at Mrs. Patmore. "Nothing. But if it goes on much longer, I may ask him myself if anything is wrong."

"Ha. Good luck with that," Mrs. Patmore said. "I hope you have better success with him than James did, when he's in such a mood."

Mrs. Bute laughed. "I can handle it. Besides, I'm only occasionally the recipient of his surliness, even when he's at his worst."

Just then, the object of their speculation approached them. "Everything all right?" he asked, a serious expression on his face.

"Quite all right, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Bute assured him, and Mrs. Patmore nodded.

"I'm glad I have you both here," he commented. "I'd like your opinion on the arrangements for tomorrow night's dinner. It's an extremely important dinner and I'd like to get it all settled as soon as possible."

Just then, James appeared. "Afternoon post, Mr. Carson," he announced, handing Mr. Carson his letters and disappearing as quickly as he could.

Mr. Carson flipped through the letters quickly, but one of them drew his particular attention and he looked at it for a moment before he turned back at the housekeeper and cook. "I'll leave you to your work. I must deal with this letter, that is, with _all_ of these letters immediately." He turned on his heel and went into his office, closing the door behind him. Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bute kept completely silent and were rewarded with what they had been listening for; the click of the lock echoed through the empty tiled corridor. The two women looked at one another.

"Very odd," Mrs. Patmore observed. "He wanted to speak to us as soon as possible, but now suddenly his letters are more important." She shrugged. "Well, I must get back to my work." They had been standing in the doorway to the kitchen and Mrs. Patmore went inside, calling out orders to her kitchen maids.

Mrs. Bute went to her office. Mrs. Patmore was right about one thing, but not the other. Mr. Carson _had_ suddenly and inexplicably abandoned an important conversation, but it was for _one_ letter, not all of them. Mrs. Bute decided not to proceed any further with her investigation. At first she had been worried about Mr. Carson, but if she had put together all of the events of the last few days correctly, she needn't worry about him. She would make no assumptions, and she was not a gossip; but she was perceptive. She did not decide or judge; she only observed. From here on out, unless she noticed anything alarming, she would leave him to himself. Whatever did or did not happen was between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. She hoped, however, that it would end happily.

_To be continued..._

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	6. Flirtation

**Make sure you have read all previous chapters before you read this. Notifications have been on the fritz lately, and stories aren't always in order by most recent update.**

**The last chapter was quite short. Here's a longer one to go with it. Hope you enjoy!**

Mr. Carson had retreated to his office eagerly once he had seen Mrs. Hughes's handwriting on the letter addressed to him, but now that the door was shut and locked behind him, he became nervous. He laid the others on his desk, but he paced the room with her letter in his hand. He had been wondering since Friday night if he had made a fool of himself. Mrs. Hughes had barely been gone an hour when he had looked at the postcard and set aside his work to write her. It wasn't his usual day, and it would mean a special trip to the post office, but he couldn't seem to help it. He wanted to talk to her, but she wasn't there anymore, so writing was the only avenue open to him. What had he written, anyway? Would she think him foolish or wonder what was wrong with him for speaking so freely? Although he longed to know what was inside, he hesitated to open it. It was not long, however, before he opened it and sat down, devouring her words.

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_Thank you for your wonderful letter. I very much enjoyed reading it, though the surprise of receiving it early made me quite curious, even a little apprehensive. However, once I opened it Saturday evening and had the pleasure of reading your delightful words, I knew that I must answer straightaway._

_Downton was in a bit of a flutter when I arrived, partly due to my absence and partly due to a variety of inconveniences and problems that cropped up just when I returned. I feel now that things are under control, but it reminded me that being here during the Season, even without having to wait on the whole family, is certainly no holiday. Not only are there enough crises to work through to keep me busy, but a few of my staff seem to think that they are on holiday, and they are a bit harder to control at times. Nothing I cannot easily handle, but irritating nonetheless._

_You flatter me, I am sure, when it comes to my skill as a housekeeper. I don't deny that I do my work well, but I hardly think that I've reached some unattainable peak of housekeeping excellence. I formed a very favorable opinion of Mrs. Bute during the short time we were together, and I agree that she shows great promise. I know little of how she works with the others or commands her staff, but she is certainly a very pleasant and intelligent woman. I am sorry that she was ill, but I am glad I had the opportunity to meet her. She certainly seems capable of seeing you through the rest of the Season._

_Mr. Molesley has settled in well as temporary butler. Lady Edith is away so the only one here for him to wait on is Mr. Branson, but he doesn't seem to mind, as Mr. Barrow did. Mrs. Crawley came yesterday for tea with Mr. Branson and to visit little George. I think waiting on the heir's grandmother has meant a great deal to him, and of course he feels that he bears a certain responsibility towards the children as well, though Nanny Spencer is of course very capable. I was about to tease you and say that you ought to be wary of Mr. Molesley's designs on your position, but I think it might be better said that Mr. Barrow should be wary. Neither of them could hope to displace or replace you, except by your own choice, but Mr. Molesley has certain qualities that Mr. Barrow lacks._

_As far as telling the staff, you may maintain the ruse that the day by the sea was your idea entirely and not mine. As we discussed, we worked together on that project, in a way, so they do still have you to thank. And I like the idea of the staff thinking of you as the kind man you pretend not to be. I am glad I was able to make your day by the sea such a pleasant one. I enjoyed it as well, perhaps even more than I expected. Indeed, the more I think of it, the more lovely my memories become and the more I cherish them. I am always content with Yorkshire and Downton, and I was happy to help when I was needed in London, but Brighton was unexpected in many ways. Just as you say, the weather was fine, the staff enjoyed the outing, and you and I enjoyed our time wading in the sea. Can you remember the last time we spent time relaxing together like that? I cannot. In fact, I am not sure we ever have and I Iiked it very much. A trip to Brighton every year is certainly out of the question, but perhaps we should make an effort to do something like it again soon - to stop and smell the roses, as they say. I think I would rather slow down by choice than wait until poor health or old age force it upon me, wouldn't you?_

_As for the Crystal Palace, Westminster Abbey, the Science Museum, or any of your other suggestions, had it been a special outing only for the butler and housekeeper, I would have been happy with any or all of them. They are quite excellent destinations, I am sure, but I think the company would be what made them special, for I'm certain you would be ready to hold forth eloquently about whatever we saw. What a fantastical notion! But it has put a smile on my face nonetheless._

_I hope you are well and happy. I send my best wishes to you and our two families, upstairs and down._

_Sincerely,_

_E. Hughes_

Mr. Carson was red from his collar to the roots of his hair when he finished reading the letter, but he could not prevent a bemused smile from crossing his face. Mrs. Hughes had certainly not thought him too forward. She seemed to have taken his letter as rather a challenge! To think of the two of them on an outing, alone, was not unpleasant, but as she had said, it was quite an outlandish notion. Mr. Carson had never seen more effective flirting by letter; he was thoroughly disconcerted. He wasn't sure what to think of it. But if he were honest with himself, he had been thinking of it since Thursday. She had flirted with him at the beach, too, in her teasing way, and somehow persuaded him to take her hand. But he could not place all of the credit or blame - he was not sure which it should be - for flirtation on her. Hadn't he flirted back, a bit later, though in his own clumsy and almost accidental way?

_When they returned to dry land, he dropped her hand, but gently, not as though she had burned him, and picked up his shoes and socks. They walked barefoot together to a refreshment stand, where he bought them each an ice cream cone - vanilla for himself and chocolate for Mrs. Hughes. Then they wandered about on the sand, occasionally running across their staff and greeting them. The time was drawing near for them to leave to catch the train back to London._

"_Do you think we should go wading a bit more to wash the sand from our feet before putting our shoes back on?" Mr. Carson wondered._

"_There are some taps up in the changing area where we can wash the sand and salt water from our feet when we're ready to go," Mrs. Hughes told him._

_This was a relief to Mr. Carson, who didn't wish to take any sand back to Grantham House with him, but he still wanted to go back to the sea, to wade in the water one more time before they left. He had enjoyed it more than he expected - the cool water was very refreshing. "Will you come with me and get your feet wet one last time?" he asked._

"_Certainly," she replied with a bright smile. When they reached the water's edge, they laid down their shoes. Mr. Carson hoped Mrs. Hughes didn't notice how his eyes lingered for a moment on her shoes and stockings on the sand, but he couldn't be sure. She grasped her skirt, this time getting a better grip on it than she had before._

_Mr. Carson now held out his hand to her. "So we'll both feel steady," he explained, smiling. She took his hand immediately, though her surprise was written plainly across her face._

_They went a little farther out than they had the first time, and Mrs. Hughes pointed out schools of tiny fish swimming near them._

"_I wonder what those fish make of us wandering through their territory," Mr. Carson mused._

"_Oh!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed. "Something just nipped my ankle!"_

_Mr. Carson laughed, but offered, "would you like to go back now, Mrs. Hughes?"_

"_Yes, I think so," she responded. "Oh! Another nibble! It seems those little fish do not appreciate our invading their territory."_

"_I suppose that answers my question," Mr. Carson observed._

"_I wonder why the little creatures chose only me as their only victim," Mrs. Hughes wondered as they made their way back to the shore. "One of them might have given you a little bite as well, but none did."_

"_Perhaps your ankles are just more delicious than mine," he replied. Mr. Carson's face immediately turned a deep shade of red when he realized what he had just said. "That is, I intended no disrespect... was only jesting... didn't mean…" He could not think of anything to say that could possibly erase his wildly inappropriate remark._

_Mrs. Hughes was looking a little pink herself, but she had mercy on him. "My goodness, Mr. Carson, that sounded a bit risqué," she remarked, with a reassuring smile. "But I take no offense."_

_Mr. Carson was relieved that she had not reacted badly, though he was still mightily embarrassed. _Delicious ankles? _he berated himself._ What on earth were you thinking, man? _Another voice whispered to him that he was, indeed, thinking of her ankles. He had never seen much of her ankles, and most certainly never bare. It was probably seeing her stockings on the sand that had put the thought in his mind. But why would he even be thinking of stockings and ankles in reference to Mrs. Hughes? He was near her all the time and had never made such a scandalous remark, much less had any thought of her bare ankles. They were lovely ankles, he had to admit, but he had no business thinking about them._

Mr. Carson was flustered all over again at the memory, but this time he at least had the comfort of knowing himself to be alone in a locked room. He wondered how he should answer her letter. Should he flirt back? He wasn't sure he would know how to go about it, at least with Mrs. Hughes. She was different than other women somehow, although he couldn't put his finger on just _how_ she was different. If he tossed a few provocative remarks into his letter, he could hardly offend her, considering the manner in which she'd written him, but he could only be himself with her. He knew he didn't always please her, or even meet with her approval, but he could not be false with her. She would know it in an instant, even in a letter, and that would offend her more than all the off-color comments in the world. He took out pen and paper and sat down at his desk to compose a reply.

_To be continued..._

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	7. Out of Sorts

"Mrs. Bute!" Mrs. Patmore called from the kitchen.

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore?" the housekeeper answered, stopping her progress down the corridor to meet the cook in the kitchen doorway.

"Mrs. Bute, I am beginning to think that you will have to speak to Mr. Carson after all." Mrs. Patmore was more than usually red in the face. "I don't know what's got into him."

"He was rather short with everyone at tea today, wasn't he?"

"And that's not all! Not a quarter of an hour ago he came into my kitchen - my kitchen! - and gave a mighty scold to each of my kitchen maids."

Mrs. Bute was puzzled. "Whatever for?"

"For everything and nothing. The man doesn't know his way around a kitchen aside of being able to put a kettle on to boil, but still he comes into _my_ kitchen and starts frightening my poor girls to death. Susan's apron had a stray thread that needed trimming. Lizzy was slouching. Kate's hair is _too curly_. I thought he was about to start on me, but he left before he could discover that my shoes needed polishing or that one of my ears is slightly smaller than the other!" Mrs. Patmore was furious.

"What on earth?"

"I've never seen Mr. Carson like this, Mrs. Bute, and I have known him for decades. Something has got to be wrong. If he keeps it up, well, I'm not sure what I'll do to him, but it won't be pretty. It was at least five minutes before my girls stopped crying."

"Good Lord," Mrs. Bute replied. "You're right. I'll take him some tea tonight and see if I can't coax it out of him."

"Let's just hope we can all survive through dinner with our heads still attached to our bodies!"

Mrs. Bute chuckled lightly and was about to move on when Mr. Carson rounded the corner. "Mrs. Bute, Mrs. Patmore." He spoke quietly, gesturing for the two women to approach him. They exchanged a quick glance and stepped forward to where Mr. Carson stood, away from the doorway.

"I don't like to have to speak this way to two people who should be my equals more than my subordinates, but I really must ask you both to stop chatting away in the halls as though there's nothing to do. I don't see how this house can be properly run if even the senior staff behave as though they are on holiday!"

Neither Mrs. Bute nor Mrs. Patmore responded, both too shocked to speak, but Mr. Carson didn't wait for a reply before marching down the corridor and up the stairs.

"Well, at least he had the courtesy to keep his voice down while we were in view of _our_ subordinates," Mrs. Patmore said sarcastically.

Mrs. Bute only sighed and shook her head. She would have her work cut out for her tonight.

#####

Mr. Carson found himself looking at the postcard in his office again that night, but this time it did not trigger pleasant memories. Instead it made his head ache. He walked to his desk and sat down heavily, massaging his temples.

There was a knock on the door. "Yes?" he responded wearily.

Mrs. Bute entered with a tea tray. "Would you care for some, Mr. Carson? I wanted a cup myself and thought you might like one, too."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bute," he answered, gesturing toward his desk. "I'd like that."

Mrs. Bute poured a cup of tea and waited to see if he would go any further without prompting. She fixed his cup and handed it to him, but he was silent. Once she had prepared her own cup of tea, she sat down in the chair that faced his desk.

"Mr. Carson, are you quite well?" she asked.

"Of course I'm well. What do you mean?" he questioned, his eyebrows drawing together.

"You seem out of sorts today, Mr. Carson."

"Out of sorts?" He was briefly confused, but then seemed to understand. "Perhaps you are referring to the lecture I gave you and Mrs. Patmore earlier today. I apologize for that, Mrs. Bute. I'm not sure what came over me."

Mrs. Bute was now moderately alarmed. Mr. Carson had had sharp words for nearly every member of the staff today, but his weary and apologetic manner now seemed even less like him than his roaring about like an angered bear. She was determined to continue the conversation, however. She steeled herself to tell the usually stone-faced butler outright that he had essentially been terrorizing his staff all day. "Thank you, Mr. Carson, but that is not quite all. I have not been the only victim of your sharp tongue today. In fact, you spoke harshly to almost everyone you encountered downstairs. Mrs. Patmore informs me that you took issue with the hair of one of her maids. Too curly, I understand?"

Mr. Carson rose from his desk and began to pace the floor. "That's not what I said at all," he grunted.

"Well, whatever you _did_ say apparently had the kitchen maids in tears. Mrs. Patmore told me it was at least five minutes before she could get a coherent word out of any of them."

His pacing slowed, but continued. "I'm sorry to hear it. I certainly didn't mean to make them cry." He sighed heavily.

"Can I help, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Bute asked him gently.

"Oh, I doubt it," he answered dismissively.

"What's happened? Are you ill?" Mrs. Bute didn't really think he was ill, but she wasn't about to come right out and ask him if he'd quarrelled with Mrs. Hughes.

"No, not ill." He sighed again. "Only I-" He stopped himself here, uncertain how to continue. Mrs. Bute waited patiently. "I fear I may have offended a friend of mine."

"But nothing that can't be forgiven, surely."

"I don't know," Mr. Carson answered. "I wrote a letter, you see. I meant no harm by it, but as soon as I had sent it I could perceive just how very insulting it was."

Mrs. Bute tried not to smile. "Can you not find a way to undo your words, then?"

"I'm afraid the letter is gone; there is no retrieving it. My friend will receive it."

"Then write another, Mr. Carson. Tell your friend how sorry you are and send it as soon as you can. I am sure she will forgive you."

"What do you mean _she_?" Mr. Carson asked, looking suspiciously at Mrs. Bute.

The housekeeper thought fast, looking for a way to cover her slip. "Or _he_, Mr. Carson. I only say 'she' because I had something like this happen with my sister last summer."

"And she forgave you? When you wrote a second letter?"

"Of course she did. There's no one I'm closer to in all the world than my sister. We couldn't stay at odds for long."

Mr. Carson nodded slowly. "Thank you, Mrs. Bute. I shall do as you say."

"I hope it will make you feel better," she replied. "I am sure you've said nothing unforgivable, Mr. Carson, even if you _have_ hurt or offended your friend."

"I hope you are right," Mr. Carson murmured, taking his cup of tea and sipping at it, his mind now several hundred miles away. Mrs. Bute felt she'd done as much as she could and bid him a quiet good night. Once he had drained his cup, his mind was back in its proper place and he took out pen and paper to write.

_To be continued..._

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	8. Hurt and Comfort

Mrs. Hughes was happy to see Mr. Carson's handwriting on another letter from London so soon after she had sent her last. Just as before, she saved the letter from the afternoon post to read when she was alone in her room, although this time she did not feel any apprehension that something might be wrong. She thought it was possible that he would draw back a little after receiving her last letter, but the fact that he had written so soon seemed significant to her. She undressed hurriedly and once she was ready for bed, she opened and read what he had written.

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_The idea of visiting the Crystal Palace or Westminster Abbey without the rest of the staff is indeed quite a ridiculous notion. I can't think what might have put it into your mind. What excuse could we possibly have for leaving the family and the staff to their own devices while we went gallivanting about London? I can hardly think of anything less likely or less desirable. Think of the time it would take for us to catch up on work left behind. I know you will agree with me once you have thought about it further, for you are a practical woman._

_Last night at Grantham House we entertained a large party at dinner. A great deal more wine was consumed than I had anticipated, even considering the size of the party. We do not expect another large party for two or three weeks, but please be ready to receive a note from me in the next few days with instructions on sending some things to town from the cellar at Downton. Please do not leave it all to Mr. Molesley, for I depend on your checking everything twice to be sure that Grantham House is properly supplied for the Crawleys and their guests._

_As for Mr. Molesley's or Mr. Barrow's supposed designs on my position, I will defer always to his lordship on the selection of his staff. If he should choose to replace me with one of them, I should try my best to give way with grace._

_C. Carson_

Mrs. Hughes willed herself to take slow, deep breaths. It was impossible, however, for her to prevent a few angry tears from springing to her eyes. She had not expected him to write a letter quite as provocative as hers, but she had not expected such a cold and terse response. She could summarize its contents in two sentences. _You are a ridiculous woman. Grantham House needs more wine._ A few more tears fell and she realized that he had not only offended her, but also hurt her. She hated that he had the power to wound her, when there was likely nothing she could say that would hurt him. _No_, she corrected herself. _It isn't that you _can't_ hurt him, it's that you _won't_ hurt him._ It was the sad and sorry truth. She had fallen in love with him a long time ago, and she could never bring herself to purposefully hurt him, although she suspected she possessed the ability. She had begun to peel away his defensive layers years ago, one at a time, and she had no intention of betraying his trust. He might never love her, but she had gotten closer to him, and she really felt she deserved better than this curt message. If he meant to rebuff her after her last letter, he certainly could have done so more kindly. Mrs. Hughes had not thought him quite so cruel, but the words were staring right back at her from the page. He had mocked her far-fetched daydream, admonished her not to leave her own work to Mr. Molesley, and thrown her light jest about Mr. Molesley and Mr. Barrow back in her face. She was angry and hurt, and angry that she was hurt. No good could come from her responding to the letter right away. She would let it sit for a few days until she could be calmer, and then she would compose a cool response. Mrs. Hughes was glad that the family wasn't due to return anytime soon. If Mr. Carson had arrived tomorrow, for example, she might find it difficult to keep a civil tongue in her head. It would probably be an effort not to take out her frustration on the staff in the morning, but she must make that effort. They should not be held responsible for the infuriating behavior of the absent butler.

#####

Mr. Carson's letter was never far from her mind, but Mrs. Hughes was kept busy enough with Lady Edith's return to Downton that she didn't have time to stew about it. By luncheon, she was feeling more herself, but was thrown into some turmoil by the arrival of another letter from Mr. Carson in the afternoon post. She couldn't think what else he could possibly have to say to her until she remembered his mention of sending for more wine. Very likely it was just his orders for the cellar. Mrs. Hughes thought she had better take a quick look, just so she would know how much of Mr. Molesley's time she would require, either later in the day, or the next morning. As an afterthought, she closed her sitting room door. If yesterday's letter was any indication, even an order for wine might contain some cutting remark that would still have the power to wound her. When she opened the letter, however, she found neither a wine order nor any cutting remarks.

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_I hope, for your sake, that the letter I posted to you this morning never reached its destination, but I think too well of the postal service to believe that. I do have hopes that this letter will do at least a little bit of work toward overcoming the evils of my last. Mrs. Hughes, you must allow me to apologize for that letter. It was cold and unkind, especially considering the friendly tone of your previous letter. I am sorry that I sent it, and ashamed that I wrote it. I do not blame you if you are quite angry with me, and I shall be ready to receive a well-deserved dressing-down in your next letter. I only hope you will choose to continue our correspondence. I always look forward to your letters, even if they only contain a bit of news from the house and a little village gossip. I am truly sorry._

_Now that I have tendered my apology, I will continue by writing a proper response to your last letter. It is indeed a fantastical notion, as you said, that you and I should leave Grantham House behind for a day or an afternoon to visit London's sights, but it is not an unpleasant daydream. You've said that you think sometimes of retirement and while I am not certain I am ready to consider it myself, I do agree that a little time off can be very beneficial. A day by the sea did me a great deal of good._

_I'm sorry to hear that Downton was chaotic when you returned, but not surprised that you managed to have everything under control in a day or two. No matter what you may say, I still maintain that you are one of the best housekeepers in the country. I am glad to hear that Mr. Molesley is doing well, and that he doesn't show the same disrespect toward Mr. Branson that Mr. Barrow does. I have not yet found the opportune moment to confront Mr. Barrow about his actions, but I will not wait much longer. I am glad to hear that Mrs. Crawley has come to take tea with Mr. Branson and to visit the nursery. In my view, it does your reduced staff good to have a few family members to wait on from time to time. It keeps them from falling into bad habits._

_Do you expect Lady Edith to return soon? My understanding was that she did not intend to be away from Downton for long, but she has not communicated with any of the family in London. Perhaps you or Mr. Branson have received some communication? I wish you well whenever it is time to receive her. As Madge is still in London attending Lady Rose, I fear that the office of lady's maid will fall mostly to you. I hope this does not prove too grievous an inconvenience for you._

_As you suggested, I have maintained the illusion that our day by the sea was entirely my idea, but if the staff thought me kind for it, I doubt they think me kind now. After I posted that abominable letter, I immediately regretted it, and was out of sorts for the rest of the day. I knew that I was a bit irritable, but it was not until this evening that Mrs. Bute informed me I had been terrifying the entire staff all day. I am not proud of my behavior, any more than I am proud of that horrid letter. Please forgive me, Mrs. Hughes. I hope to hear from you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

_P.S. You will receive my wine order in the next day or two._

Mrs. Hughes was glad she had taken the precaution of closing her sitting room door. Mr. Carson had the ability to hurt her, but he could also make her happy, and he had done so with his heartfelt apology. She wished she had a moment to answer his letter immediately, but it was not to be. She had no intention of letting him off easily for his first letter, but there was no question of not accepting his apology. Mr. Carson was clearly remorseful and feared her reaction. He was so full of contradictions at times. He could be cold and disapproving, rebuffing her at every turn, and yet he could then turn around and beg her pardon, solicitous for her comfort. This was nothing new, though, and she was used to it. There were times when Mrs. Hughes hated how much she loved him, but she loved him the way he was. He could hurt her, but he could never make her stop loving him. She liked to think this was because he cared enough about her that he was incapable of hurting her badly enough to lose her love, but she knew that might only be wishful thinking. She took a moment to compose herself before slipping the letter into her pocket and going back to her work. It would be best to write a response later, when she had both letters in front of her.

_To be continued..._

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	9. Making Peace

Mr. Carson was nervous when he saw Mrs. Hughes's handwriting on one of his letters. He was relieved that she had responded fairly quickly; he didn't think she would cut off correspondence with him for the rest of the Season, but he had thought she might put off answering him for a while. He also had a vague fear that the second letter had somehow not reached her, or that it had not reached her until after she had written this letter, just now arrived in the morning post. Mr. Carson had always found the mail to be very reliable, but what if this particularly important letter to her had been the one to go amiss, or be delayed? He left his letters on his desk, resolving to read Mrs. Hughes's letter after he ate his breakfast.

Unfortunately, the Crawleys had other plans for him. Mr. Carson was summoned right after he had finished eating, and was not free to read the letter until just before it was time to serve luncheon. He had about a quarter of an hour, which would be enough time to read the letter, but not enough time to write his answer. He knew that there was some possibility that the letter would be disconcerting, even upsetting, but he had faith in his ability to keep an impassive face while he served. He didn't think he could remain any longer in suspense about how Mrs. Hughes had responded to his two very different letters. He sequestered himself in his office and opened the letter, hoping Mrs. Bute's advice would be proved sound. He spared a quick glance for the post card still on his notice board before he began to read.

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_I hardly know how to respond to two such dissimilar letters at once. They might have been written by two different men, but you were the author of both._

_I don't hesitate to admit that I was angry, very angry, when I read your first letter. I did not think I deserved to be spoken to in such a manner by an old friend, even if I had done or said something to offend him, and I hope I have not done that. I set the letter aside, intending to respond in a few days when I was less angry. What a blessing that I did, for I was able to read your apology before I responded._

_I thank you for writing again so soon, and I accept your apology and grant you my forgiveness. I am sorry that the staff had to bear some of the weight of it, but your immediate remorse and apology show you to be a more thoughtful man than the first letter alone would indicate. I hope in future if you are upset with me you will say so, rather than responding so unfeelingly. I say this not to beg for further apology, but in an effort to be honest with you, as I hope you will be with me._

_Lady Edith returned today from the Continent. I was prepared to receive her, as she had sent me a note a few days earlier. I did not realize she had not communicated with the family or I could have written or telephoned to let you know. Lady Edith is well and seems rather more comfortable in the country than she did in town. I can hardly blame her; there must be a number of bittersweet memories for her in London, where I know she spent many happy times with poor Mr. Gregson before his departure and subsequent disappearance. Playing lady's maid is no trouble to me, for Lady Edith is not a demanding mistress, and I enjoy a little variety in my work from time to time._

_I hope you are in good health and that you and Mrs. Bute continue to get on well together and with the rest of the staff._

_Sincerely,_

_E. Hughes_

_P.S. I will expect your wine order soon._

Mr. Carson let out the breath he had been holding. Mrs. Hughes wasn't angry. She had been at first, and her tone was still more guarded than it had been in her previous letter, but she had accepted his apology. Mr. Carson was relieved, yet uneasy. Mrs. Hughes had granted her immediate forgiveness, but he still felt remorseful for his own behavior, all the more for her understated reproaches. The fiery dressing-down he had been prepared to receive was conspicuously absent from her letter; instead she had stated the truth very simply - he had spoken unfeelingly and she didn't deserve it. It was a relief to know that he had not ruined things completely between them, but Mr. Carson hoped never to receive such a letter again as long as he lived. He had really hurt her and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so ashamed.

When it was time to serve luncheon, Mr. Carson put Mrs. Hughes's letter in his pocket and went upstairs. He wasn't sure when he would have time to answer, but he could begin composing his letter in his mind, as he served. He was concerned at her mention of his supposedly being upset with her, and he was determined to put that right, as well as to put to rest any fears that she might have about his regard for her. _And what exactly is my regard for her?_ he wondered as he stood silently in the dining room. He considered his first letter after she left London as a piece of recklessness, and he had been both pleased and embarrassed by her reply. They had never spoken to each other in quite that way, until that day at the beach, at least. Mr. Carson wasn't sure he liked it. Well, he liked it all on its own, but it made him a little fearful of where this new development in their friendship might lead. His well-ordered world was beginning to seem a little topsy-turvy, and he couldn't decide whether he was more gratified or terrified by it. It was certainly a little bit of both, but which he felt more strongly he couldn't have said.

His thoughts were drawn back to the present by a request from Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson had to put aside these reflections until later. It was fortunate that he had been paying just enough attention to the family that the earl did not have to ask him twice for a fork to replace the one he had dropped. Mr. Carson would not like to be questioned about his absence of mind, which was sure to be noticed by at least one person present.

Mr. Carson made it through luncheon successfully and went back downstairs with a slight smile on his lips. In the kitchen, he found Mrs. Patmore and her girls hard at work and decided to try to mend some of his fences. An outright apology would not do, but he hoped he could make peace.

"Mrs. Patmore," he called out from the doorway.

She looked up. "Yes, Mr. Carson?" she replied, her expression daring him to provoke her.

"Luncheon was very well-received today. You and your staff did excellent work," he told her. Mrs. Patmore's eyes widened. "Thank you, girls," he acknowledged, giving an approving nod to each of the three kitchen maids. They all stood stock still, staring at the butler who had so recently frightened them out of their wits. "Well, I must be going now." Mr. Carson excused himself. Mrs. Patmore sauntered to the kitchen doorway but followed him with her eyes until he had gone into his office and locked the door.

#####

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I was upset with you when I wrote that dreadful letter a few days ago. Please believe that I was not and am not angry with you at all. I am being entirely truthful when I say that I cannot now explain my reason for writing in that manner, and I am not sure I will ever know. It will sound strange to you, but there are times when I simply do not understand myself. Please accept my apology once again, and my assurance that the offense will not be repeated._

_Her ladyship has now received a letter that Lady Edith must have posted as soon as she reached Downton. I am glad to hear of her good health and that your work there has not been too disrupted by the absence of her lady's maid._

_Mrs. Bute, Mrs. Patmore, and I continue to keep things running as smoothly as we can. We are still kept quite busy, but the madness has calmed a bit since the ball. We have given some big dinners, but have had no overnight guests, thank heaven, and with Mrs. Levinson's party, the dowager countess, Mrs. Crawley, Lady Edith, and Mr. Branson having left us, the house isn't quite so full, and Miss Baxter, Anna, and Madge now have only their own mistresses to look after._

_As you know, I do not very often take my half days, but being in London for just a few more weeks, I chose to take this afternoon off to visit Westminster Abbey. It is always a beautiful sight, and I remembered what you said about how I would lecture you on the history of that great building if we were ever there together. I think you must be right, for I thought of everything I knew of the place as I walked around inside. It is nice to be alone with one's thoughts sometimes, but I couldn't help wishing I had brought someone with me who might appreciate the beauty of the place and have some interest in the things I could say about it._

_The weather was fine and I walked along the Thames for a while after leaving the Abbey and before returning to Grantham House. London really is a very interesting city. I do wish that you may have other opportunities to visit in the future, although I naturally do not wish further illness on Mrs. Bute! Perhaps someday you and your sister could make a visit to London together and see some of the sights at your leisure._

_Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bute both ask to be remembered to you and as always, I send you my best wishes as well._

_Sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

_P.S. The wine order for Grantham House is enclosed. If you send it from Downton within a week of receiving this, I will have it in plenty of time for our next large dinner._

Mrs. Hughes was pleased with Mr. Carson's letter. She read it several times, enjoying his friendly tone. The unkind letter had done no permanent damage to her enjoyment of their correspondence, and he had surprised her again by writing in a way he never had before. Mrs. Hughes wasn't quite sure how to describe the difference in his letters, except to say that they were more personal. In all of the previous Seasons since she had been housekeeper, she would not have minded if anyone in the house, from the kitchen maid up to the earl, had come across the letters she received from Mr. Carson. The friendliness of their long association could be seen in their correspondence, but there was nothing very private in them. This Season, however, she followed her inclination to keep them all safely to herself, hidden away in her bedroom rather than sitting out on her desk. If she read one of his letters while she was downstairs, she put it in her pocket for safekeeping, rather than leaving it in a drawer to take upstairs later. There was nothing in them to be ashamed of, but she felt that hers were the only eyes that should see them. She wondered if Mr. Carson had noticed any difference in _her_ letters. Mrs. Hughes wasn't sure herself how much they differed from her past letters, but she did know that offering him her hand at the beach had been quite possibly the most daring thing she had ever done, at least where he was concerned. If her letters reflected this same daring, it seemed certain that he would have noticed. She had thought perhaps she had gone too far and that Mr. Carson's unpleasant letter was his way of telling her that he was offended. He claimed not to be, however, and she had no reason to disbelieve him.

Mrs. Hughes hesitated more than usual before sending the next letter. She had it ready to post in the morning, but did not send it until evening, which would delay its delivery. She was pushing him more than she usually did, and although she did not fear that he would react angrily, she thought he might withdraw a bit at her questioning. She almost threw it in the fire and wrote another, but she remembered that lovely day at the beach and decided to take another chance.

_To be continued..._

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	10. An Unexpected Question

"Morning post, Mr. Carson," James handed a stack of letters to the butler and went to the servants' hall where breakfast would be served shortly.

"Thank you, James." Mr. Carson flipped through the letters and was gratified to see another from Mrs. Hughes, which he slipped in his pocket. Whenever he received a letter from her, he wanted to tear it open and devour its contents immediately, but as that was not an option open to him, he savored the anticipation of whatever hour of the day he could privately read it. Sometimes he didn't have to wait long, and sometimes he had to wait all day, but no matter how long, it was always worth the wait.

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_Very well, I accept that you were never upset with me. If you say it is so, then it must be, for I know you to be an honest man. I was angry with you for a short time, as I have mentioned, but now that we have determined these things, let us speak no more about them and be friends._

_I am glad that you found time to visit Westminster Abbey after you had to give up that plan in favor of a day by the sea. Someday you must tell me all about it, whether or not I ever visit it. I'm sure hearing everything you can tell me about the place would be nearly as good as going there myself._

_Your account of sightseeing on your own has made me think of something I have often wondered. Do you ever feel lonely, Mr. Carson? There are times when I do. It seems odd that in my position I could ever feel lonely, constantly surrounded by people as I am, but I do believe it is possible to feel alone in a crowd. Perhaps you prefer a life lived alone, in a way. Or perhaps you do not feel lonely as I occasionally do. I wonder if I am perhaps alone even in my loneliness. I am not unhappy, though, and there are still times when I wish for a moment of solitude, when I could be sure I was not about to hear a knock on my door and be needed to handle some crisis. Being needed is, I suppose, some consolation to me, but it does not prevent that loneliness from creeping in at times. I should like to know your thoughts on the subject._

_I am sorry this letter must be so short, but I have a thousand things to do. I prefer to send a short letter, rather than none at all. I return my good wishes to Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bute, and of course to you. Thank you for being such a faithful correspondent._

_Sincerely,_

_E. Hughes_

_#####_

Mrs. Bute sat at her desk working on some accounts when she heard a knock and Mrs. Patmore peeked around her door. "Might I have a word, Mrs. Bute?"

"Of course," the housekeeper said. "How can I help?"

Mrs. Patmore came inside and closed the door. "You've already done a great deal, Mrs. Bute, and no mistake!" she answered, taking a chair. "I don't know how you've done it, but Mr. Carson is quite a changed man."

"I can't take credit for that, Mrs. Patmore."

"Well, it weren't my doing, I know that much. What did you say to him the other night after he'd spent the day scaring the younger staff to death and taking a bite out of the rest?"

"Well, I took him some tea and asked him if he was unwell, since he'd been so out of sorts, and with a little coaxing he told me what was wrong. It turned out he was upset because he'd written and sent a letter to a friend and then regretted it, because he was afraid it would hurt his friend."

"Oh, I see." Mrs. Patmore nodded. "And what did you say to him?"

"I suggested he write an apology to his friend and send it as soon as he could. He said he would take my advice, and I think it must have worked."

Mrs. Patmore eyed the housekeeper shrewdly. "Did he tell you who this friend was?"

Mrs. Bute shook her head. "He did not, although I could make a guess."

"Mrs. Bute, I think you can be trusted to hold your tongue when it's needed."

"I certainly hope so, Mrs. Patmore." Mrs. Bute waited for Mrs. Patmore to continue.

"I know you didn't speak to her for very long before she went back to Yorkshire, but what did you think of our Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Bute smiled. "I liked her very much, Mrs. Patmore. I can see why she's both well-respected and well-liked."

"Perhaps especially by the person we've just been talking of?"

"Do you think so, Mrs. Patmore? Because I've had a few suspicions, but I don't know either of them nearly as well as you do."

"What is it exactly that you suspect, Mrs. Bute? Because I'll not hear a word of slander against my friends."

Mrs. Bute shook her head. "You'll hear nothing of the sort from me."

"Why don't you tell me what you've seen or heard that's interesting and we'll go from there."

"All right, Mrs. Patmore. Chances are you will know it all already; not much gets past you."

"Perhaps not, but when I'm in the kitchen all day I can't see some of the things you can. So tell me what our Mr. Carson's been up to that seems odd."

"Well, the first thing that seemed strange to me was that he saw Mr. Branson off himself when he left London, and had me join him."

"That _is_ odd. I shouldn't have thought he would consider Mr. Branson worth seeing off at all, let alone by both the butler and the housekeeper."

_When the time came for the party to depart, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Bute were present to see them off. They exchanged a few ordinary goodbyes and Mr. Carson closed the door for Mr. Branson while Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Molesley went round to the other side and got in the front with the driver. The cab drove away and Mr. Carson stood at the gate from the servants' entrance watching the car. Mrs. Bute was halfway down the stairs when she noticed that Mr. Carson was still standing on the pavement, apparently still watching the cab. She had learned to read some of Mr. Carson's movements over the three previous Seasons that she had worked at Grantham House. Mrs. Bute didn't completely understand him, but she liked him, and she had learned some of his ways. She could not see his face, but his arms were at his sides, his fingers tapping against his palms, which she had observed was an indication of nervousness or mild agitation. Mrs. Bute waited a little longer, but at last left Mr. Carson standing alone on the pavement. She had things to do, after all._

Mrs. Patmore nodded in understanding. "Then he wasn't seeing off Mr. Branson. He was seeing off Mrs. Hughes."

"I had only just met her, and knew nothing of the matter, so it was only when a few other things happened that I remembered his watching off the car."

"What other things?"

"Right after she left, do you remember how we talked of his crabby mood? How he was acting just as he usually does right before the family heads back to Yorkshire?"

"I do remember, Mrs. Bute."

"I felt a little presumptuous, having only just met Mrs. Hughes, so I didn't mention the other things to you then, because I thought they might have some other explanation. But it made me wonder if he really goes back to Downton before the rest of you just so he can unpack the heavy luggage."

Mrs. Patmore pondered this. "Well, from what I remember of the Seasons I stayed in Yorkshire, he does take care of the heavy cases right away. And I think he likes to get a jump on things, being there ahead of time. But that doesn't mean he might not have other reasons, I suppose. The two of them did always meet for tea and a long, cozy chat on his first day back."

"He went to the post office the night she left, too," Mrs. Bute added.

"He never did! He always sends James or Mr. Molesley when something needs to be posted."

"Well, I've no proof of what he posted, but he certainly went, and I've noticed he's unusually preoccupied by his letters since I've been back."

"He certainly is, and I've never seen him sequester himself behind that locked door as often as he does now."

"Have you never wondered if there's anything between them, Mrs. Patmore? Ever seen anything to make you think of it?"

"Certainly, I have. They depend on each other, and though they sometimes have spats you wouldn't want to get in the middle of, they're very good friends. But whenever I think I see something more than that, it disappears after a moment and I think I've dreamt it all, until the next time. Still, there always _is_ a next time."

"So, when was the last 'next time'?"

Mrs. Patmore frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean when was the last time you saw something that made you wonder?"

Mrs. Patmore grinned. "Well that one's easy, and I know I didn't imagine it, either. I weren't the only one who saw."

Mrs. Bute's eyes widened. "What was it, then?"

"You know we all went to the seaside just before you got back?"

"Yes, of course. It sounds like the staff enjoyed that little holiday."

"Well, Mrs. Bute, Mrs. Hughes was wading in the shallow water and trying to persuade Mr. Carson to do the same. He had taken off his shoes and rolled up his trousers, but I could see he was resisting getting his feet wet, as you might expect. So Daisy and I were sitting on the beach having a nice chat when I glanced up and there they were, wading into the sea together, holding hands!"

"Mr. Carson? In public? I don't believe it!" Mrs. Bute exclaimed.

"I couldn't believe my eyes, either, but Daisy was looking, too. She was just as surprised as I was, I can tell you."

"Did any of the others see?"

"I don't know. I told Daisy to keep it to herself and she will, but I couldn't tell you if the others saw it. You might ask Anna. She'll have heard anything the others might be saying."

Mrs. Bute shook her head. "Oh, I don't think that will be necessary, but I'll keep it in mind if there's any trouble about it later."

Mrs. Patmore nodded. "So, Mr. Carson was upset because he'd written Mrs. Hughes a letter he thought would upset her?"

"He seemed to think so," Mrs. Bute answered. "Well, he never said it was Mrs. Hughes, of course. That was only my assumption."

"I wonder what he can have written to her that had him tied in such knots!"

Mrs. Bute shook her head. "There's no knowing, but I think he's put things right."

"Better than right, I think, if his visit to the kitchen the next day is any indication," Mrs. Patmore replied. "He came down to compliment us on luncheon and was very kind to my girls. They didn't know quite what to make of it after that tirade of his the other day, but I was right glad to see him acting more like a man and less like an angry bear."

"Indeed," Mrs. Bute agreed. "I am glad I was able to do some good. Now let us hope that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes stay in harmony for the rest of the Season."

#####

The man who had been a bear was at that moment once more locked in his office, writing to Mrs. Hughes. Their previous tradition of each posting a letter once a week had been replaced by a new practice that was less regular, but more satisfying to both. Mr. Carson could not always answer a letter as soon as he received and read it, but he did his best to write as soon as he could find the time. Judging by the frequency of her replies, Mrs. Hughes was doing the same, and with greater success, likely because she was running a relatively quiet Downton Abbey, waiting on two of the least demanding members of the family, while he was still in charge of Grantham House during a busy presentation Season. She certainly had work to do, but she had a little more time to spare for writing letters than he did. Mr. Carson did not begrudge her this extra time; she deserved a rest, and he was glad to receive her frequent letters. He now sat down to reply to her latest. She had surprised him with her frank question, and he had spent the morning thinking of how he would reply. There were times when he waited at table when he was focused on the family's conversation, both because he wished to be ready to take care of any need as it arose and because he liked to stay informed of the goings-on in the house. There were other times when he paid just enough attention to be on hand if he were needed, but otherwise was deep in thought about his own affairs. This morning had been a case of the latter. Mrs. Hughes had asked him a very serious and personal question, and he wanted to give it proper consideration before he answered. He had been a bit embarrassed at first by her question, but he was coming to realize that their friendship was changing, and that if he didn't keep up with her their special bond might be lost. It was a little unsettling, at times even frightening, but he had to admit that it was also at times quite exhilarating. He wasn't sure if he felt less himself or more himself, but he knew absolutely that he felt a certain thrill every time he received one of her letters. He sat down at his desk and wrote.

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_You needn't apologize for the shortness of your letter. I of all people understand the demands on your time. I can't say now whether this letter will be long or short. I believe I have free time enough to write a long letter, but whether or not I will be left to myself remains to be seen._

_It is interesting that my account of visiting Westminster Abbey alone led you to muse about loneliness, for I found myself thinking on that very subject as I wandered around London that afternoon. I came to no particular conclusion at the time other than the one I mentioned to you - that I would have liked company when I visited the Abbey. When I received your last letter, I had to think on it again in order to give a proper answer, for I was not sure how to respond at first. The answer to your question, in the end, is yes. I do occasionally feel lonely. When I really think about it, I can see that I am sometimes lonely in London, but never in Yorkshire. Downton is my true home, and when I go to London I leave half my downstairs family behind. Grantham House and London are pleasant, and I have made many happy memories here over the years, but the times I find myself lonely are always when I am in London. I try to focus on keeping busy and on the experiences I will remember fondly in years to come. This Season the highlights of London have probably been my afternoon at Westminster Abbey and the surprise and honor of seeing the Prince of Wales at Lady Rose's ball, not to speak of our little holiday at Brighton. I do well most of the time, but there are still occasional moments of loneliness. So you are not alone in your loneliness. I have chosen the solitary life I lead, and I have always known that this would mean times of loneliness. I accept that I will be alone for the rest of my life, but I am still a man, and we are, all of us, sometimes lonely without companionship. This year the Season was not a lonely one after Mrs. Bute's illness had left us in disarray. You brought Daisy to London, and Ivy and Mr. Barrow followed shortly after. Only the hall boys and the housemaids were missing from my Downton family, so it was much more like being at home. Now that you have taken Mr. Molesley back to Yorkshire, and Daisy and Ivy have gone as well, I may have my lonely moments again._

_This feeling of the downstairs staff being a family is likely one of the reasons I resist the idea of retirement. I will lose them if I retire to live alone, away from the house. If I can be lonely at Grantham House with half of my family missing, what will it be like with all of them gone? I would miss them dreadfully._

_Thank you for being so prompt with my wine request. I received everything I had asked for, down to the bottle, no doubt due to your careful management and instruction of Mr. Molesley._

_As always, I send my best wishes for your health and happiness._

_Sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

Mr. Carson felt satisfied with his letter, although it had sent his thoughts along unfamiliar paths. It was exactly as he had written; he was never lonely in Yorkshire, only London. However, the explanation he gave Mrs. Hughes was only a partial one. While it was true that he missed having the whole downstairs family together, he knew that of that family, hers was the company he wished for most. She was his closest friend and although he would not have said he was miserable without her, he simply felt not quite right, in some unidentifiable way, when she wasn't there. He hadn't even known that it was the case until earlier this Season, when he first saw her getting out of the car at Grantham House when she arrived with Lady Edith and Daisy. Even though Mrs. Levinson had just arrived without a maid, at a time when there was no one in the house to receive her, Mr. Carson somehow felt as though a missing piece of a puzzle had been found and put back into place, and that one way or another everything would be fine, and that all of the grand plans for the Season would come off brilliantly. It was true that Grantham House had struggled without Mrs. Bute, but it was more than that. If some other housekeeper had arrived to fill in for Mrs. Bute, he would not have felt that same sense of contentment and security. Now Mrs. Hughes was gone again, and Mr. Carson hadn't felt quite right since the day she left. He missed her company, though he wasn't sure he could ever voice that particular truth to her, in writing or, God forbid, in person. He had danced about it in his letter, talking of his Yorkshire family, and her arrival with Daisy, followed by the others, and he wondered if she would understand what he meant. He wasn't sure he wanted her to understand; he didn't entirely understand it himself. Mr. Carson was grateful to have Mrs. Bute, at least; he liked her, and they got on well together, so he did not have to endure aggravation on top of loneliness. There was no mistaking one thing, however. Mr. Carson wished for the Season to be over as soon as possible so he could return to Downton. His consolation for the family's continued residence in London was his frequent correspondence with Mrs. Hughes.

_To be continued..._

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	11. Loneliness

"I think I've just about got the trick of it, milady," Mrs. Hughes said, as she worked to create Lady Edith's desired hairstyle.

"You're a quick study, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Edith told her. "It took Madge ages to learn how I liked it done, and you've mastered it in just a few days."

The housekeeper nodded slightly to acknowledge the compliment.

"Have you heard lately how things are going at Grantham House, Mrs. Hughes?"

The older woman frowned. "Did Mr. Molesley not give you her ladyship's letter yesterday?"

Lady Edith smiled. "Oh, yes, he did. I just wondered how things were going downstairs. I think this year's activities must have been quite disruptive to your routines. Do you correspond with any of the other staff?"

"Yes, milady," she answered. "Mr. Carson and I always correspond during the Season. He's told me that once Mrs. Levinson's party, the dowager, and Mrs. Crawley left Grantham House, things settled down a bit."

"I should think so!" Lady Edith exclaimed. "A house full of women and only three ladies' maids among us. I'm happy to spare Madge, though I'm sorry to bother _you_ with taking care of me until the rest of the family comes back."

"I've told you, milady, it's no trouble. I like a little variety when I can spare the time and things are a bit quieter than usual at Downton right now, so I can."

"I heard the staff went to Brighton a few days after I left," Lady Edith commented. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, we enjoyed it very much," Mrs. Hughes answered with a smile. "We are all very grateful for her ladyship's generosity."

"It wasn't too taxing to keep the younger staff in order?"

"No, they didn't give us any trouble at all."

"And what about Carson? I can hardly imagine him enjoying a day by the sea."

Mrs. Hughes couldn't help laughing softly. "Oh, but he did, though I think he may have surprised himself. It really was lovely." She kept her hands and her eyes on her work, but her mind went back to that day at the sea and she smiled at the lovely memories she still carried with her all day, every day, as she went about her work.

Lady Edith watched Mrs. Hughes curiously in the mirror. "I can see that _you_ enjoyed it, Mrs. Hughes," she noted, after observing the housekeeper's expression for a few moments in silence.

"Certainly, I did," Mrs. Hughes replied, coming back to the present as she put the finishing touches on the hairstyle. "I'll remember it fondly for a long time to come."

"I'm so glad," Lady Edith said sincerely.

"Will there be anything else, milady?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

The housekeeper gave a smile and a nod and left Lady Edith.

#####

Mrs. Hughes was not surprised to find a letter from Mr. Carson in the stack that was delivered that afternoon. Their correspondence this Season was turning out to be a new adventure for her. She felt emboldened by the distance, and wrote things she could not imagine saying to him in person, but she wasn't entirely comfortable with her own behavior. She was not ashamed of anything she wrote, but she was beginning to take risks that could result in heartbreak. Over years of loving him, Mrs. Hughes had never forced his hand, for fear that he would say 'no' or, worse yet, that he would answer 'never.' In her letters she still had not asked anything of Mr. Carson, but she was afraid that if he continued to write letters as sweet as his last two, she might be tempted into pushing him too far or seeking too much. She had already taken a chance in her last, questioning him about loneliness, and she hoped that she was not a fool to believe him when he promised he would never write another unkind letter again. She felt fairly certain that he would keep this promise, but although their friendship was changing, she feared that if she tried to change it too much or too quickly, their special bond might be lost.

Mrs. Hughes had answered the door when the letters came, and she decided to deliver them herself. She would give the upstairs letters to Mr. Molesley, of course, but she took the rest to the servants' hall and then to the kitchen, handing them out one at a time. She had slipped Mr. Carson's letter into her pocket immediately, of course, but she found she couldn't think of anything else. After luncheon, she decided to indulge herself, and she locked herself in her sitting room once the staff had dispersed to their various chores. Her letter opener, always handy, was put to use and the missive opened and devoured before she even sat down.

#####

Mrs. Hughes could have written her reply to Mr. Carson that afternoon, but she waited until everyone had gone to bed. She was a little overwhelmed by reading his letter, and needed to think for a while before she could answer it. He had responded to her question about loneliness far more openly and specifically than she had anticipated, actually admitting to feeling lonely only when he was away from Downton. Mrs. Hughes didn't want to read too much into it, but she wondered if he was trying to tell her something. She didn't think it was a declaration of love, but he was admitting the importance of his downstairs family, which included her. She knew without a doubt that he considered her a good friend, but she could never imagine him saying even that much to her. Maybe this was his way of telling her. Mrs. Hughes often went to bed as soon as she had gotten the others upstairs to their rooms, but tonight she stayed in her sitting room once it was quiet downstairs. She sat at her desk with her pen and paper and Mr. Carson's last letter. She wanted to write a reply worthy of his confidence in her.

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_If I am going to feel lonely, it is always during the Season, and for the same reasons you stated. Half of our family is in London and I miss the ones who've gone. I am thankful at least that I am lonely while at home, rather than away from home. Even so, there are times when I feel that I am missing half of myself, and that is when I experience the worst loneliness. It usually comes in short bursts, but I do occasionally go a whole day feeling as though I were missing a limb, or as though I were ill with some disorder that causes me no actual harm, but makes me feel dreadfully weary. Perhaps it is good that I have these moments. They remind me how much I have to be grateful for during the rest of the year._

_You say that missing your family makes you hesitant to consider retirement, but perhaps you shouldn't fear that it will separate you from your family. You will miss those who go to London for the Season, but many of us stay in Yorkshire all year. And you would at least be at home while you were missing those who do not. In addition, your time would be all your own; you could invite your friends to visit you for tea on their half days, and I am sure you will always be welcome to visit Downton at any time. You may even see more of them than you do now, since you will be able to speak for more than a few minutes as you rush from one task to another. And do not forget that if I retire anytime soon, you may visit me anytime you like, and I hope you will receive me as well, for I will certainly not be leaving Downton when I do retire._

_I've meant to ask how Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bute get on. Do they squabble constantly, as Mrs. Patmore and I used to do, over the store cupboard key? Do they fight for dominance or do they work together? I have no particular reason for asking, except that I am curious, and I know that if I wrote Mrs. Patmore to ask the same question, I might not receive a completely accurate response. She doesn't care much for writing letters either, so for all purposes you are the best person to ask._

_Lady Edith and Mr. Branson continue well, receiving periodic visits from the Dowager Countess and Mrs. Crawley. You may not approve, but I will tell you anyway that I find it quite amusing when those two ladies are visiting at the same time. They are always polite to one another, but they trade wicked barbs from time to time that are quite entertaining. Mrs. Crawley is not always a match for her ladyship, but when she is sharp, which she often is, she holds her own quite impressively. And no matter which of them prevails, it is always well-fought and I admire them both for their wit and determination. If there is a need for it, you may certainly assure the Crawleys that both of these ladies are in excellent health and enjoying their rivalry very much._

_I'm glad I could help with the wine order. Please do let me know if there is anything else you need. The maids have done the hardest of the work now, and I admit I often have to search the back of my mind to find things for them to do. Your own room has very likely been swept and dusted seven or eight times by now, along with your pantry, although you may be assured that I always supervise the cleaning of that room._

_My best wishes to you and our "family."_

_Sincerely,_

_E. Hughes_

#####

Mr. Carson sat alone in his office late one night, sipping a cup of tea and rereading Mrs. Hughes's latest letter. He had received it earlier in the day, but had only had the time to read it once, and very hurriedly. He almost wished he hadn't, for he was troubled for the rest of the day by thoughts of her sorrow. The letter was not all melancholy, but the wistful bit was what stayed with him all day. Mr. Carson was glad, now that he had the leisure to read it again, that she seemed in good spirits as she wrote, and that her mention of her infrequent bouts of desolation made up only a small part of the letter. Still, her description of feeling as though she were only half there or missing a limb tore at his heart. He'd never thought of whether Mrs. Hughes might be lonely, during the Season or otherwise. Lord Grantham had been particularly talkative this evening over his last drink of the day and had kept Mr. Carson up particularly late, but he knew that if he didn't write immediately, he would lie awake thinking of his reply, and of her. He took up his pen and tried to think of how best to comfort Mrs. Hughes from a distance, with only his words on a page. He wasn't confident in his own abilities, but he would do the best he could. He knew that a bit of humor would make her smile for a moment, but that if she were really lonely, it would take more than a joke or a bit of teasing to truly make her feel better for any length of time.

Mr. Carson was also going to have to engage with her on the subject of retirement. They had not discussed it much before, and rarely seriously, but this time _he_ had brought it up, and Mrs. Hughes had responded. He didn't like to think about retirement, but he had at least come to terms with the idea of not working right up until he died. One day, he would no longer be able to maintain his own rigorous standards, and then he would step aside for some younger man who could do the job as it should be done. Still, accepting that he would eventually have to retire was not the same thing as being happy about it, but she had given him something to think about. There was a great deal to be thought and written, but it must be done now, or he would not sleep at all. Sitting at his desk until two o'clock in the morning, crafting his reply, would make tomorrow morning a bit difficult, but it was better than getting no rest at all. The comfort of knowing that he had posted a letter to Mrs. Hughes as early in the day as possible would make up for any sleep he lost, and he would certainly rest easier the next night.

#####

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_I am dismayed to hear how much your loneliness grieves you, even if not for long. I did not know that you suffered so in our absence and it pains me to hear of it. I doubt there is anything I could say or do to help, but you should know at least that everyone speaks of you at Grantham House, from the hired kitchen help who have never met you all the way up to Lord Grantham. Mrs. Bute told me at the end of her first Season with us that you were present in London, even though you were in Yorkshire. I would not have thought before of saying it that way, but she was precisely right. I believe what makes Mrs. Bute effective in her post is that she does not try to replace you, although she still performs the same functions within the household, nor does she attempt to compete with the essence of you that is always present. Some of the more devious members of our staff would use such a silent rivalry to their advantage, but Mrs. Bute retains the respect of all by refusing to participate in such pettiness. And in answer to your question, she and Mrs. Patmore get on well. She allows Mrs. Patmore every benefit of seniority that does not infringe on her own ability to carry out her duties and command her staff, an act which makes life more comfortable for every member of the household. As it is, Mrs. Bute is efficient at doing her job, precisely because she does not try to replace or compete with you. If she did, she would fail miserably. I have told you that she shows promise, but there is no one like you, Mrs. Hughes, and Mrs. Bute is wise enough to know it._

_Your last letter has made me think about retirement a little differently as regards family and loneliness. I am still uneasy at the thought of leaving my work, but no doubt it will become necessary at some time in the future, and the points you have made should help reconcile me to the idea when the time comes. And if you do intend to stay at Downton whenever the day comes for you to retire, that will make things a bit easier for me as well. We can meet to drink tea or sherry together every evening, if we wish, although our conversations will certainly be different. Instead of discussing Mr. Barrow's most recent shenanigans, we will talk about the price of beef._

_Your account of the dowager countess and Mrs. Crawley has made me smile. I will make no comment on your amusement at their contests, but I am very glad to hear that both ladies are in good health and that your skill in eavesdropping has not diminished._

_I will let you know if there is anything we need from Downton, or if I think of anything obscure that may need cleaning, although I suspect you have probably thought of everything at this point. I am glad to know that my rooms are being kept spotless by your small army of housemaids. I am sure there is not a particle of dust anywhere in the house._

_I'd like to say again how sorry I am that you have such keen moments of loneliness during the Season. If there is anything I can do to help, please ask, and feel free to leave things in the hands of Mr. Molesley and your housemaids for a few hours if you feel that an extra afternoon off would make you more comfortable._

_Sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

#####

Mrs. Hughes was glad that she had chosen to read this particular letter when she was alone in her room just before going to sleep; it brought tears to her eyes. She wanted to dismiss Mr. Carson's words about her presence at Grantham House every year as whimsical and silly, and she probably would when she wrote next, but if she were honest, reading them meant a great deal to her. Regardless of the truth of any of it, of Mrs. Bute's actual words, or of his thoughts on the subject, he was trying to cheer her. This was the sort of kindness that Mrs. Hughes knew was part of the man she loved, but that still surprised her sometimes when it appeared unexpectedly. She felt a rush of affection for him, which for once did not make her feel more lonely in his absence. She could imagine and almost feel him there - not as a physical presence in her room, but as a mind and heart wishing to soothe and console a friend in distress. There was no way she could respond right now; her heart was overflowing and it was unlikely she could compose a coherent reply. Tomorrow she would still remember how she felt after reading his letter, but she would have had a good night's sleep to calm her. She needed to be sharp to write something that would express her gratitude without saying more than she thought she ought.

_To be continued..._

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**


	12. Afternoon Post, Mr Carson

"Ah, Mrs. Bute, could you come to my office for a moment?"

"Certainly, Mr. Carson. How can I help?" She followed him into his office and was surprised when he closed the door behind her.

"I should have said so before," Mr. Carson began. "But I really must thank you for your recent advice to me."

"Advice?"

"Yes, you advised me to write an apology to a friend I had offended. I did as you suggested and my friend and I are back on good terms. In fact, my friend received my second letter before replying to the objectionable one, and responded to both at once. There was still a little misunderstanding to be cleared up, but my friend forgave me wholeheartedly. Thank you, Mrs. Bute."

"You're welcome, Mr. Carson," she answered, smiling slightly. "I thought it might have worked out. You've been in a much better humor recently, so I suspected your apology must have been well-received."

"Yes, it was." Mr. Carson chuckled. "I suppose for the staff's sake, if for no other reason, I should be very careful what I write in my letters to my friend." His voice softened. "I shouldn't like to hurt her and I'm afraid if I did, I should be quite rough and churlish with everyone. It's not fair, I know, but sometimes it's just who I am."

Mrs. Bute only watched his face in sympathy. He was staring into space, with an odd, wistful smile on his face. She now had no doubt that the man was in love, but was he aware of it himself? She decided that another chat with Mrs. Patmore was in order. Mrs. Bute was constantly at war with herself over whether her intrusion into Mr. Carson's affairs was appropriate, but one thing that might help her feel certain of the right course would be to know more of Mrs. Hughes's feelings. She herself had spent a scant few hours with the other housekeeper, so she was the least qualified person downstairs to make any judgment on that score. If anyone could tell her more of Mrs. Hughes, it would be Mrs. Patmore. Mrs. Bute slipped silently out of Mr. Carson's office, leaving him to his brown study. He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice her departure.

#####

"Afternoon post, Mr. Carson," Mr. Barrow announced, handing the butler a stack of letters and going on his way. Those words had become music to Mr. Carson's ears. Mrs. Hughes's letters didn't always come in the afternoon post, but most of the time he was the one to answer the door to the postman in the morning. In the afternoon it was more often James or Mr. Barrow. He had never been particularly fond of James and did not like Mr. Barrow at all, but anytime either of the two men spoke those four simple words, Mr. Carson was seized with anticipation. The soles of his feet prickled as he flipped through the stack to see if there was a letter from Mrs. Hughes and if there was, he struggled to hide his smile and to breathe normally until such time as he could actually read it. Then from the time he read a letter until the time he wrote a reply, he was easily distracted from his work. With the frequency of their current correspondence, this meant that Mr. Carson spent a great deal of his time feeling oddly off-balance. He was getting used to it now, but he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. While in reality none of the family noticed anything, he felt that he wasn't quite keeping up standards, but he didn't seem to be able to do anything about it. Today Mr. Carson was rewarded by an envelope addressed to him in Mrs. Hughes's curly script, which he immediately put in his pocket. He knew he wouldn't have time to read it until much later, but it would be well worth the wait; her letters always were.

#####

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_I cannot tell whether you are scolding or teasing about my eavesdropping, but in any case I will remind you that you have benefited enough from my efforts that you should have no cause for complaint. I hear much more than I tell, even to you, and whether you believe it or not, I think that the things I know allow me to do my job better. You seem bent on flattering me lately about how well I do that job, so you can take my eavesdropping as part of what you seem to see as my surpassing skill as a housekeeper. I still do not believe you, but I will not complain that you think well of my work. I think you as excellent a butler as can be found anywhere in England, so you can be assured that our friendship is based on mutual respect, however much we may quarrel over the little things._

_Thank you for your concern over my moments of loneliness at this time of year. Please don't imagine that I languish in gloom and dejection. I have survived many a London Season, and I shall manage at least a few more. For the most part, I am content. You surprise me with your account of Mrs. Bute's observation after her first Season at Grantham House. She makes me sound like a spirit of some sort! That is rather dreary, don't you think? Even when I am a bit lonely, I am very much alive and well back at Downton. It seems natural that I might be mentioned by the staff occasionally, but that I am present even when absent is certainly absurd. You are trying to make me feel better, and I thank you for it, but there is no need for you to exaggerate._

_As for our discussion of the price of beef over evening sherry, I should think it a good idea that we have such a conversation. You know nothing about how much any of these things cost, as for the last twenty years or so I have ordered the beef, the grocer has delivered it, and Mrs. Patmore has cooked it. I shouldn't like to see you fleeced by half of Downton's shopkeepers due to your inexperience. Beyond our discussion of beef, and your concerns over missing your family, just think of all of the time you will have for reading. I know how much you like to read, and then to reread your favorites, but you don't have much leisure time for that now._

_We continue to get on well in Yorkshire. Please accept my thanks for sending Mr. Molesley back to Downton in place of Mr. Barrow. It was a sacrifice for you, I am sure, but it has made my life a great deal more pleasant. Mr. Molesley has his faults and foibles, but he is quite simply a nice man, and those are harder to find than one might think._

_My best wishes to you, Mr. Carson._

_Sincerely,_

_E. Hughes_

To be continued...

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	13. Thirsty Work

Mrs. Patmore carried a tea tray down the corridor and knocked briefly before entering Mrs. Bute's office. "I thought some tea and biscuits might be nice," she remarked, smiling. "Chatting can be thirsty work, Mrs. Bute."

Mrs. Bute smiled. "Can it? It seems like it might depend on the subject of the conversation."

"Well, you asked me to come in for a chat, and I can guess who might be the subject of discussion." Mrs. Patmore jerked her head in the direction of Mr. Carson's office. "Trying to figure out what's got into that one is_ always _thirsty work." She set down the tray and closed the door.

Mrs. Bute laughed. "I've never met anyone like him," she admitted. "There are times he is so transparent I don't have to ask a single question, and there are times when nothing he does seems to make any sense."

"That's a pretty good assessment," Mrs. Patmore agreed, sitting down and pouring herself a cup of tea. "So did you want to ask me something specific about him?"

"Well, I am always trying to understand him, but I do see him every day," Mrs. Bute replied, pouring her own cup. "I'm interested in what you can tell me about Mrs. Hughes."

"Because you don't see her every day."

"I've seen her only once, and just for a few hours." Mrs. Bute paused for thought and then shook her head, frowning. "No, this is all wrong."

"What's all wrong?" Mrs. Patmore wanted to know.

"I'm afraid I've become too concerned about something that is none of my business. I can see Mr. Carson's position clearly enough, but I thought if I knew more of how Mrs. Hughes felt I might better decide if I should interfere. I think that's wrong, though. Why shouldn't the poor man be left to himself?"

Mrs. Patmore laughed. "Because left to himself he might not be as happy as he could be with a little help."

Mrs. Bute's eyebrows rose. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything… yet. Except that you tell me what you mean by seeing Mr. Carson's position clearly enough."

Mrs. Bute looked at her companion doubtfully. "You'll think me very presumptuous."

"I'll think you a great tease me if you don't spit it out!"

"Oh, very well," the housekeeper sighed. "It seems obvious that Mr. Carson is in love."

Mrs. Patmore raised her eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, a hundred tiny reasons that mean nothing on their own, but add up to a man in love."

"Well, I don't think you presumptuous. I've told you that I've suspected it for years, though I've never been sure. But you are?"

Mrs. Bute nodded. "He asked me to come to his office the other night and he thanked me for my advice to him about writing to apologize to his friend. He said that he would take care from now on how he wrote letters to his friend, because he would never want to hurt her. And this time he did really say 'her.' Before that it was just 'my friend' this and 'my friend' that. He had the oddest smile on his face, and he wasn't paying me any mind. I left the room without his even noticing. Put that together with all the other things we've talked about and it seems like he's mad for her."

Mrs. Patmore smiled. "So he's finally come to his senses, then?"

"Well, it depends on what you mean by that. I know he loves her, but I'm not altogether sure that _he_ has come to that same conclusion. I suspect he will soon, though. I'm certain he can't deceive himself for much longer."

The cook laughed. "Oh, you might be surprised, Mrs. Bute."

The housekeeper's brows drew together with concern. "But what of Mrs. Hughes?" she asked. "Does she…?"

"I think so, though she'd never say it to me. She does know her own heart, though. She can fool anyone but herself."

"Perhaps it isn't so very wrong to want to help them, then?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Bute. And if you're right about _him_, it might be best if we did."

"Mrs. Patmore, I have to tell you that although I'm very observant, I'm not really much of a plotter."

"You leave that to me," the cook advised, smiling. "We'll both keep our eyes open and I'll tell you when I need your help."

#####

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_I will accept your help with the price of beef most gratefully. I have spent only a small portion of my adult life out of service, and I am sure things have changed a great deal since I was last responsible for purchasing my own food, aside of a meal at the pub here and there. Charles Carson at the grocer's should be a babe in the wood. I know about the price of wine, but not much beyond. However, I am beginning to suspect that you are trying to push me into retirement so that your own retirement might be more comfortable and entertaining. I don't like to suspect you of anything selfish, but do tell me if my suspicion is anywhere near the truth._

_I am happy to have lightened your load by sending Mr. Molesley to Yorkshire with you. It is a small sacrifice to keep Mr. Barrow with me. The house is still so full of the family and the staff that I do not have to have very regular interaction with him. If he were at Downton, he would certainly have a much greater effect on your daily life than he does on mine, so I was glad to do it. Not only that, but I was able to confront him about his behavior toward Mr. Branson. I didn't expect sincere contrition, but Mr. Barrow still managed to shock me with his recalcitrant response. He was so defiant toward me in general and in reference to Mr. Branson specifically that I felt bound to inform his lordship. I doubt this will lead to any change, but I didn't feel I could simply let it pass._

_You have told me that I am an honest man, and I ask you now to believe me when I say that Mrs. Bute's observation of a bit of you residing in London even while you were at Downton is no exaggeration. If it makes you feel better to hear it, I am glad, but I hope you will accept my word that what I told you was the truth of it. Somehow you are in two places at once, and I think we are all the better for it._

_I am growing weary of the Season, and hope to return to Yorkshire soon, but I don't know if I will get my wish. Lady Rose is as occupied as ever with parties and suitors and visiting nightclubs, Lady Mary hardly less so. His lordship and her ladyship seem content to remain in London as long as it pleases the two young ladies. I believe Isis would prefer to be back in the country, but she has no say in the matter._

_Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness._

_Sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

Mrs. Hughes sighed and smiled as she read the letter a second and then a third time as she lay in bed. It was not a long one, but if someone had asked her why she loved Mr. Carson, many of the reasons she would give could be found on that page. Someone else might not see them, but so many little hidden facets of his character and personality were tucked away between the words and phrases he wrote. It wasn't poetry; it was something infinitely better. Mrs. Hughes had no photograph of him, but in his letters, paper and ink combined to show a good and intelligent man who was her friend, and to whom she was dear. She wished she knew how dear, but she thought she could content herself for now with knowing that he cared for her more than she had realized. She could not be glad that Mr. Carson was weary, but she was pleased that he wanted to return to Downton. She missed him terribly.

_To be continued..._

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	14. Three Letters

Mr. Carson was equal parts amused and unsettled by the debate about retirement that continued in their letters. Mrs. Hughes was tenacious in her argument that he would enjoy retirement. He stubbornly held his position, but the more he read the more he began to think she might be right. He was not ready to admit it to her, but with every letter he dreaded retirement less and less. As for the rest of their correspondence, he nearly stopped reading her letters during the day, because after reading her sweet and teasing words he had difficulty maintaining his stern and sober mien. Mr. Carson feared losing the respect of the staff and made up his mind to save each letter for the end of the day, but it was a vow that was broken the very first time his resolve was tested. If there was a letter from Mrs. Hughes unopened in his pocket or his hand, and there was time to read it, then read it he would. He needn't have worried. Aside of Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bute, no one noticed him behaving any differently than usual.

#####

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_I thank you very much for this Season's correspondence, for your letters have made me smile, even laugh, during a time when I am prone to bouts of private melancholy. I can well believe that Isis would rather be at Downton than in London, and I know a member of the family who would prefer that she be returned to the country. Mr. Branson has grown quite fond of the dear creature after caring for her in his lordship's absence several times over the last few years, and I am sure he would welcome her back happily._

_And what if I was encouraging your retirement to make my own more enjoyable? I should be selfish indeed if I tried to secure my own comfort at the expense of yours, but I am quite convinced that you will be much happier in retirement than you seem to expect. I shouldn't think you will have to sacrifice any comfort at all - quite the reverse! You will be gaining a great deal of comfort. No doubt it will take some getting used to, but I wish you would try not to think of it as a dreary eventuality to be dreaded and feared._

_I am sorry that London is wearying you. I hope you will come back soon to us. We miss you all and wish the upstairs and downstairs families back home again. If there is a spirit of Mr. Carson wandering about Downton Abbey, I have not seen him, nor have I heard his commanding voice ringing through the downstairs corridors. No, he is certainly not here and, though some of my younger maids are a bit afraid of you, I do know that everything will be right again when you, not a shade of you, return from Grantham House with the rest of the staff._

_I return my best wishes to you, for health and happiness._

_Sincerely,_

_E. Hughes_

#####

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_Retirement certainly will take some getting used to. I can't imagine living alone. My quarters at Downton are very comfortable and though I might have a few more comforts in my own home, I would not have the comfort of knowing that help was just down the corridor. I would perhaps have a larger bed and my own parlor where I wouldn't be expected to do any work or constantly be interrupted, but I'm not sure those things are compensation for what I would lose. I like the quiet of my pantry late at night when everyone has gone to bed, but I don't know if I would like that kind of quiet all the time, day and night._

_His lordship seems to think that Isis might prefer to return to the country. He doesn't like to be parted from her, but he has considered sending her back to Downton. The problem is that he is not certain how to do so. He doesn't wish to take her there himself, nor does he want to take Mr. Branson away from his work for a whole day just to fetch Isis from London. It is possible that I may send James home to Yorkshire with her soon, or that I may ask Mr. Molesley to make a trip here, but I will write or telephone first to let you know what is planned. It may not happen in the end; his lordship hasn't truly made up his mind. If he does decide to have Isis brought back to Downton, I will try to have a letter ready to be carried to you. I make no promises, however, as I may not have enough notice from his lordship to have time to compose a letter. Perhaps a brief note, if nothing else._

_I was speaking to Anna earlier today and she asked me especially to send you her good wishes the next time I wrote. She and Mr. Bates have had an opportunity to enjoy London a little since the family party at Grantham House diminished and she isn't quite so constantly busy, but she tells me they will be happy to return to Downton soon. She doesn't regret becoming a lady's maid but she does remember fondly her years as head housemaid and spending the whole year in Yorkshire. Didn't you first hire her as a housemaid during the Season, while the rest of us were away? Anna told me once that she was afraid of you for the first month she worked at Downton, but then she realized that as long as she worked hard you would never be unkind to her._

_My best wishes to you and everyone at Downton._

_Sincerely,_

_C. Carson_

#####

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_I still maintain that you will get used to retirement and even come to enjoy it. You won't be dragged from that larger, more comfortable bed in the middle of the night at every crisis, nor will you be expected to go without sleep, like you did on the night of Lady Rose's ball. That is one of the aspects of retirement I most look forward to myself. My time will be my own, for the first time in my life._

_Thank you for your warning about Isis. If his lordship does send her to us, we will be happy to receive her. I don't always like an animal in the house, but Isis is so well-behaved that she makes no mess or trouble, and so gentle that all of my maids love her. Of course, as long as his lordship is away, Isis only has eyes for Mr. Branson. It's quite sweet, really. She follows him around the house, and he takes her for walks around the estate and the village._

_You may return my good wishes to Anna. You are right; I did hire her while you were away in London. I am glad she was not afraid of me for long, but when you returned I think she was afraid of you for a little while. I think most younger staff are at first. Even I thought you rather intimidating when I first arrived at Downton, though it was easy enough to see what kind of man you really were once I had been here a few days. I've known you for a long time now, so I'm not sure if my assessment is accurate, but I think now it is mostly your imposing height and commanding tone of voice that does most of the frightening. Some might think you strict, but not much more than you should be, in my belief. We take different approaches, but we both know how important discipline is to effectively running a large house._

_Please send my greetings to all, and be well._

_Sincerely,_

_E. Hughes_

To be continued...

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	15. Isis

When she reached the bottom of the grand staircase, Mrs. Hughes was surprised by a flash of yellow crossing her path. She looked down the corridor and saw Isis, sniffing at the library door. Mrs. Hughes knew that Mr. Branson was likely in the library, so she hurried to open the door and let the poor animal through to see her second master. Isis slipped into the room and once Mrs. Hughes heard Mr. Branson greeting the dog, she closed the door, smiling. She wondered why Mr. Carson had not telephoned to tell her that Isis would be brought down from London today, but it wasn't important. What she most wanted to do was go downstairs and find whichever servant he had dispatched to Downton with Isis, and find out whether Mr. Carson had sent a letter with the dog's traveling companion, as he had told her he might.

Mrs. Hughes found the servants' hall deserted, and in the kitchen Ivy was putting a kettle on to boil and Daisy was sitting at the table making a list. _Did James simply drop off the dog and walk back to the station?_ she wondered. It didn't seem likely. She hoped she wouldn't have to spend much time in search of an errant footman. If she didn't find him downstairs, Mrs. Hughes would telephone Mr. Carson and find out whom he had sent. She would be disappointed if the footman had come and gone already, for she had intended to give him a note to take to Mr. Carson when he returned to Grantham House.

Mrs. Hughes went into her sitting room and was rewarded by the discovery of a letter on her desk. It was addressed only with her name; she knew it must be the letter delivered by the missing footman. She opened the envelope and pulled out a very short note from Mr. Carson:

_Mrs. Hughes,_

_Would you care for some tea?_

_CC_

Mrs. Hughes knew immediately that there was no missing footman, but that Mr. Carson had come to Downton himself with Isis. She tried to stay calm, but there was no pretending that she wasn't thrilled to know that he was somewhere in the house. She hadn't thought to see him for several more weeks and now suddenly he was here. Mrs. Hughes put the note in her pocket and left her sitting room to go in search of him. She found him in the first place she looked - his pantry. She didn't knock, but pushed open the door and found him standing with his back to her. She watched him straightening the pictures on the walls.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she said at last, unsuccessfully trying to hide her smile.

Mr. Carson spun around quickly and returned her smile. "I hope so, Mrs. Hughes."

"To answer your question, I _would_ care for some tea," she told him. "Shall I fetch us some?"

Mr. Carson shook his head. "I asked the kitchen to fix us a tray whenever they saw you coming down. Ivy will bring it here in a few minutes." He gestured for her to sit in her usual armchair.

"Well, that's very kind of you, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes sat. "But I'm surprised to see you. When I saw Isis upstairs, I came down here in search of whatever footmen you'd sent from London, but instead found your note and then you."

"I asked Mrs. Bute to telephone you as I was leaving. I'm surprised she did not."

Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "Very likely she did, but no one answered. Either that or one of the staff will give me her message when we sit down to dinner."

"Well, I'm here now, so I don't suppose that matters," he replied, sitting down in the chair facing Mrs. Hughes.

"No," she answered. "No, it doesn't."

There was a knock on the door. "Come in, Ivy," Mr. Carson called out. The kitchen maid set the tea tray down on the table between them and left without a word, closing the door behind her.

Mrs. Hughes poured the tea, and they each set about fixing theirs the way they liked it. They chatted on indifferent subjects - the weather, the train journey, traveling with Isis - but she was more than pleased simply to be in the same room with him, listening to that marvelous voice of his, regardless of what they talked about. When the tea and the chocolate biscuits were gone, Mr. Carson surprised Mrs. Hughes with what seemed to her an unusual suggestion, at least from him.

"Mrs. Hughes, could you spare some time for a walk about the grounds?" he asked. "It is very fine out."

"I believe I can, Mr. Carson," she answered. "But do you not need to get on a train back to London? Or catch up on some of your work here?"

"His lordship told me to enjoy the afternoon in Yorkshire and I intend to take his advice. I'm not to come back until later. As for catching up on work here, that can all wait until I really return."

Mrs. Hughes was taken aback. "Well, that's something I never thought I'd hear you say."

He just chuckled at her shock and rose from his chair. "Shall we?" he asked, opening the pantry door.

Her smile returned and she preceded him out of his pantry and through the back door into the fresh air.

#####

"You really want to know?" Mr. Carson asked doubtfully, as he and Mrs. Hughes strolled beyond the folly. "You don't think it will bore you?"

"Of course I want to know. I'm sure you have many interesting things to tell."

"Well, all right," he acquiesced. "But you must forgive me if I don't remember everything."

"And just how do you think I'll even know if you've forgotten something, when I know next to nothing myself?"

Mr. Carson gave a little nod. "Very well," he began. "Westminster Abbey is quite beautiful, Mrs. Hughes. But to me a place often seems even more beautiful when I know its history. For instance, did you know that construction began in the 11th century?"

"I knew it was quite old, Mr. Carson, but I wasn't aware of exactly when it was built."

"What's also interesting is that the Westminster Abbey that stands in London today is not the first Westminster Abbey to be built. In the 13th century, Henry III pulled down the original to start construction in the newer Gothic style. He didn't live to see it completed, though it was finished eventually. Since then, there have been several additions."

"And of course that's where English kings and queens are always crowned," Mrs. Hughes put in.

"Yes," Mr. Carson agreed. "In fact, every coronation since 1066 has occurred at Westminster Abbey."

"What's your favorite thing about the place, Mr. Carson?" she asked.

"The Lady Chapel," he answered without hesitation. "Because of the ceiling."

"What's so special about the ceiling?"

"I've never seen anything like it. I'm not sure if I can do it justice with a description, but it looks rather like lace. I suppose it's all made of stone just like the walls and the arches, but the ceiling is very delicate compared to the rest of the place."

"Lace made of stone - how very interesting!" Mrs. Hughes was fascinated.

"I think they call it a 'fan-vaulted roof,' but I'm not sure that adequately describes it either."

"It sounds exquisite," she murmured. "Perhaps I will take your advice and visit London with my sister."

Mr. Carson smiled. "You should."

Mrs. Hughes wanted to know more. "What else can you tell me about Westminster Abbey?"

"That it is always changing. I believe this is common among these great churches all over Europe. I suspect the place will never truly be complete," Mr. Carson told her. "In fact, two of the bells were recast just a few years ago. At the end of the War they were in such poor condition they almost couldn't be rung, so they had to be replaced. The largest bell in the tower weighs two or three thousand pounds."

"Goodness!"

"And not much, if any, of the glass in the windows is original. Much of it was replaced in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries."

"And perhaps in our lifetimes something else will be changed or added?" she suggested. Mr. Carson nodded. "It sounds almost like a living thing, rather than just a building made of stone and metal and glass," Mrs. Hughes remarked.

Mr. Carson was much struck by her observation. "Yes, you're exactly right." After a moment he chuckled.

"What's so funny?" she wanted to know.

"You'll laugh at me, but I was going to say that it's a little like Downton Abbey - more than just a building."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Well, yes, I might laugh a little. But tell me what you mean."

"At Downton it's different. It's not any new pieces added to the architecture of the place that make it alive; it's the people here." Mr. Carson looked down at her. "And I don't mean just the Crawley family."

Mrs. Hughes was caught for a moment in his serious gaze, but she looked away, suddenly overwhelmed by him. "I'm glad. I should hate for you to leave the staff out of your assessment of a living, breathing Downton Abbey."

"How could I? Every person who lives here is important." Mr. Carson smiled. "Even the ones I don't like."

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "Well, I'm very pleased with your description of Westminster Abbey. Some other time you can tell me about the Crystal Palace or Madame Tussaud's."

"I will," he assented. "And I will also remind you, when you are fatigued by my dull stories about those sights, that you asked for them."

She laughed again. "I'm sure you could never bore me, Mr. Carson."

"Is that a challenge?" he jested.

"No," she murmured, turning serious. "It's a compliment."

"Thank you," Mr. Carson answered quietly. He didn't know what else to say and they walked on for some time in silence. When he finally spoke, his question surprised them both. "Mrs. Hughes, would you walk with me to the station?"

"Yes, I should have enough time for that," Mrs. Hughes replied, smiling up at him.

_To be continued..._

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	16. Sisyphus Returns to London

When the train pulled up to the platform, Mrs. Hughes took something from her handbag and held it out to Mr. Carson.

"What's this?" He took the envelope from her.

"I was going to send a note back to you with James if he brought Isis to us," she answered. "Don't read it until you get back to London."

"Why not?"

"Just pretend James brought it to you. Open this little note when your train arrives in London and remember Yorkshire for a moment before you become butler again."

"Very well," he agreed, putting the note in his pocket.

"Goodbye, Mr. Carson."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Hughes." He boarded the third class compartment and within a few minutes was on his way back to London. Mr. Carson watched the country pass him by as the train took him away from her; he wondered when he would be back in Yorkshire again and his mind kept returning to her note in his pocket. He had agreed not to read it until he reached London and he had meant what he said, but in the end he did not keep his promise. He had been on the train for only half an hour when he convinced himself that it would be better to read it now, so if it made him smile foolishly the way her letters sometimes did, he would have some recovery time before he 'became butler again,' as Mrs. Hughes had put it. He carefully opened the envelope and read her short note.

_Mr. Carson,_

_I enjoyed our tea and our visit to Westminster Abbey. Bring our family back home to Downton soon._

_EH_

For a single mad moment, Mr. Carson considered getting off the train at the next stop and taking the first one he could find back to Downton. Fortunately this thought was banished in the next moment, but in the moment after that he was struck with confusion. He looked at the note in his hand and wondered at the rash and impulsive thought, so very unlike him. A heavy truth was dawning on him as fields and woods and streams flew by the window of his compartment. He wanted to resist it, to hold it back, though he wasn't sure why. Mr. Carson had a sudden vision of himself as Sisyphus, propelling that enormous stone to the top of a hill, only to have it roll down to the bottom as soon as he let it go. He realized that no matter how many times he pushed this particular boulder up the hill, it would always return to him. Mr. Carson knew he was no Sisyphus; he could see that he was beaten and would not keep at it any longer. He loved Mrs. Hughes, and there was no denying, ignoring, or avoiding it. He could only now see the inevitability of it as he never had before. What would he do now? He wasn't sure. The only thing he was certain of was that he was glad this revelation had occurred after he had left Downton. He wouldn't have known how to behave around her, but at the same time he would also have wanted to stay and never leave her, not even for a few more weeks to finish out the Season and close up Grantham House. Even now, Mr. Carson wasn't sure how he would manage these next few weeks.

Although he closed his eyes, Mr. Carson did not sleep. Instead, his mind ran over everything that had happened since that day at the beach. It all made sense to him now - his foul humor over that terrible letter, his odd feelings of being unsettled and not quite himself, his impatience to read and reply to her every letter as soon as possible, and even his inappropriate thoughts about her ankles. He couldn't say he was very comfortable with all of this, but at least there was some reason for it all. There had been moments in the past few weeks when he wondered if he were going very slowly mad. Now Mr. Carson was only astonished that he had not perceived it sooner. He had been in love once before; he ought to have recognized the signs. But that was a long time ago, he supposed, and a young man in love was an altogether different creature from an old man in love. Not only that, but Elsie Hughes was so very different from Alice Neal. Alice had been a pretty girl with a sweet and gentle manner that appealed to his protective nature. Elsie was more his equal, and more than equipped for the task of protecting herself, but she appealed to his masculinity in different ways. He still wanted to protect her from hurt and harm, but her irrepressible spirit was a marvel to him, even as it sometimes baffled and even frustrated him. It also made her incredibly attractive to him, and he felt freed from a restrictive bond when he allowed himself to admit how lovely he found her.

At last Mr. Carson did fall asleep, and his dreams were full of images of the past few weeks. _Afternoon post, Mr. Carson… Westminster Abbey… retirement… our downstairs family… if you need to feel steady… _ What he saw most often in these dreams, however, was her beautiful, smiling face as she had greeted him in his pantry earlier today.

#####

Mrs. Hughes would have taken her time making her way back from the station had she the leisure to do so, but she was due back for the staff dinner soon so she walked briskly. The pain of his departure had not yet taken precedence in her heart over the exhilaration of his sudden and unexpected appearance at Downton Abbey. She would probably miss him even more now than she had before this short visit, but right now she was trying to burn the memory of this afternoon into her mind, especially the sound of his rumbling voice as they chatted over tea and as he told her about the beauties of Westminster Abbey. Mr. Carson had not glanced at her often as they walked side-by-side across the lawn, which had given her the opportunity to observe him unnoticed. Mrs. Hughes loved to hear him speak, of course, but to look as well as listen was an even greater pleasure. A gentle smile graced his lips and his eyes were lively as he told her all about Westminster Abbey and the Lady Chapel; she had never seen him more handsome. And when he turned his eyes in her direction, she could hardly breathe. Mrs. Hughes had loved him for some time, it was true, but today she felt like she had been transported back to the beginning, and all the symptoms of new love were upon her again. Her legs felt weak, her hands trembled, she was breathless, and her heart raced. She wondered how she would get through dinner. She didn't even want to think about how she would get through the rest of the Season.

#####

Mrs. Patmore abandoned her work in the kitchen when she saw Mrs. Bute passing by, hurrying to catch the housekeeper. "Good work, Mrs. Bute," she whispered.

Mrs. Bute stopped and smiled slightly. "Thank you for your advice."

"Of course. How did it all go?"

"I was sure I would say something wrong when I spoke to his lordship, but he didn't seem suspicious at all. I told him it was critical that I have James's help today, and asked if he might not send Mr. Carson instead."

Mrs. Patmore was grinning. "And did you keep James busy today?"

"I most certainly did," Mrs. Bute answered with satisfaction. "I had a great many things carried from one place to another."

"What about the telephone call?"

"I did just as you said, although I don't understand why. Where is the help in not telephoning Mrs. Hughes to tell her that Mr. Carson was on his way to Downton? Suppose she was too busy to see him today?"

"It was to his advantage to take her by surprise, even if he didn't know he was doing it. If you'd telephoned, she'd have had time to calm herself and avoid showing just how happy she was to see him."

"And you're sure she'd be that happy to see him?"

Mrs. Patmore laughed out loud. "Oh, yes. Quite sure. Now we've only to wait and see in what state he returns to Grantham House this evening."

Mrs. Bute eyed the cook suspiciously. "Have you done this before, Mrs. Patmore?"

"Perhaps," she answered cryptically.

The housekeeper shook her head. "I only hope I did right. I suppose there's nothing for it but to wait and see."

"But don't you worry. Between the two of us I'm sure we'll be able to tell how his little jaunt to the country went." Mrs. Patmore went back to the kitchen, leaving her companion to her thoughts.

_What's done is done,_ Mrs. Bute told herself before moving on.

_To be continued..._

**a/n: I meant to mention this in the last chapter, but you should do a google image search for "westminster abbey lady chapel" for some pictures of the amazing ceiling Mr. Carson talks about to Mrs. Hughes. I used Westminster Abbey's own website for the facts he related to her during their walk.**

**Thank you all for your reviews and kind comments. Please leave some more of them if you can spare a few moments.**


	17. The Debate Continues

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_Very well, I will concede that it is possible I will get used to retirement, but I think we had best leave the subject of beds behind. I don't think it's quite a proper topic of correspondence._

_Something else I will miss is the routine. I have led such a structured life for so many years, maintaining such a strict rhythm, that I'm not sure how I will manage to live otherwise. What have you to say to that? Something clever, no doubt, that I had never before considered._

_I hope Isis is settling back in at Downton. I enjoyed the short time I spent there, and the chance to relax and walk the grounds with you, something I so seldom do. I am also glad you liked hearing about Westminster Abbey. My afternoon idyll was a tranquil few hours, but it has only made me more keen to return to the country for good. Once I'm back in Yorkshire it's unlikely I'll be able to repeat such a halcyon afternoon, but I will be home again, which is worth a great deal to me._

_Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bute send you their best wishes. Mrs. Patmore is hardly less impatient to return to Downton than I am. I hope to keep to tradition and return a day earlier than the others, but I make no promises. I can't be certain I will be able to get away, especially with this particular Season being so much busier than usual._

_Sincerely yours,_

_C. Carson_

#####

Mr. Carson walked around in a trance for the next few days. He was so distracted that his inattention was finally noticed by his employer.

"I say, Carson," Lord Grantham remarked one morning at breakfast. "Are you quite well? You haven't seemed yourself recently."

"I am perfectly well, milord," Mr. Carson answered. "I apologize if I've been absentminded. I shall do my best to make sure it does not continue."

"Absentminded is rather too harsh an assessment, Carson. You still do your job as well as ever. But if you're ever feeling ill, don't be afraid to come to me."

Mr. Carson was embarrassed by this attention. "I assure you, milord, I am well, only a little preoccupied." He could have kicked himself. He had not meant to admit anything of the sort.

"Why, particularly?" the earl wanted to know.

"I would rather not say, milord. But it's nothing serious, I can assure you," he lied.

Lord Grantham nodded and returned to his breakfast. He knew the butler was hiding something, but he was entitled to his privacy. He trusted Mr. Carson to tell him if he was worried about something of great importance. He would certainly allow the man a few secrets of his own.

#####

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_Very well, I will dispense with discussion of your hypothetical larger bed, although I must point out that you were the one to mention it first. I merely continued a conversation that you had begun. However, I can see it makes you uncomfortable, so I will speak no more of it. I have no answer to your dislike for the idea of living alone, but if you crave routine, you can certainly keep it in your own house, and perhaps more easily than you do at Downton. Maintaining routine here requires the management of a large number of staff, and can be disrupted by the family at their pleasure. Keeping to a routine must be much simpler when you are the only person who must follow it, and the only one who can disrupt it._

_Isis did not need any time to settle in. Once you released her upstairs, it was as though she had never left. She went directly to Mr. Branson and has now returned to all of her usual activities with no fuss at all. If only it were that easy with the rest of the family!_

_You may be surprised to hear what I have been up to lately. Last night several of my maids asked to attend a village dance. I hesitated, but decided that they could go, with me as their chaperone. Mr. Molesley accompanied us and it seems he does not have eyes for anyone in Yorkshire at the moment. I suspect he's left his desired dancing partner behind in London, but he was cheerful enough company for the girls. I was surprised when your tailor, Mr. Walker, asked me to dance, but I turned him down; the man steps more on his partner's toes than on the dance floor. Even if not for that, I did not want to dance, although I can't explain why, for usually I enjoy it a great deal. I was much more content to watch the dancing and enjoy the music. It was a pleasant evening and we were home in good time for everyone to get to bed at a decent hour._

_I hope you are well and happy._

_Sincerely yours,_

_E. Hughes_

Mr. Carson ran a finger along the inside of his collar as he sat alone in his office late at night reading Mrs. Hughes's latest letter. He read it several times, dwelling on the passage about the village dance. He was jealous of Mr. Walker, even though Mrs. Hughes had turned him down. Mr. Carson wished he could have been there to dance with her. He wondered if she would have accepted such an invitation from him. He also could not, in spite of his best efforts, ignore the bit at the beginning about the bed. He tried not to think about that imaginary bed, and tried not to think of Mrs. Hughes in it with him, but once that train of thought had begun, he could not keep it from pushing his musings well beyond anything proper. She was fully dressed at first, but his eyes and hands were first drawn to those pretty ankles he had caught a glimpse of at the seaside and before long buttons were undone, stockings removed, and hair freed from its pins. After that he gave up and undid his collar and set to work responding to her letter. He may not have been able to control his inappropriate thoughts, but that did not mean he couldn't get anything done. He was glad today that he had not had time to write when he first read her letter, for later in the day he had received the good news he had been waiting some time to hear. He was eager to pass that news on to her, though he left it for the end of the letter. It seemed the proper place for the most important piece of information it contained. He posted the letter the next morning.

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_I can see that this argument about retirement could go on for quite some time, but while I will concede your superior skill at debate, I will not admit defeat on the subject. Not yet, anyway. Take that statement as a victory if you will, but please allow me to decide on my own best course._

_I am glad that you went to the dance with your maids. It sounds like a nice treat for them and for you. I do like to dance myself, but when I can't join in, I do still enjoy watching it, especially if there are young people in the party. They seem to get such innocent pleasure out of the activity. Still, I'm not sure why you are surprised that Mr. Walker should seek you out. Enjoyment of a dance is not restricted to the young and I am sure you are a charming dance partner. However, I am glad that you turned him down. If you do not wish to dance, there is no reason you should be forced to do so, and it sounds to me like you simply were not in a dancing humor._

_I will admit that Mr. Molesley's interest in a certain quarter was not lost on me during the time he was in London and though it was not the reason I sent him to Downton, separating the pair temporarily was a secondary benefit. I am no longer entirely opposed to courtships conducted in service, but I will admit that they do still make me uneasy. If their friendship is as strong as ever after their being apart for a time, there may be very little I could do to separate them under any circumstances, in which case they must do as they will. But if such a separation had a negative effect on their friendship, perhaps it is best that they be parted for a short time. It could save them both heartbreak and unhappiness in the future. It is not only about propriety and rules, you see, Mrs. Hughes. I do like to see our family happy._

_I am very pleased to tell you the news that his lordship and her ladyship have given me their orders to close Grantham House next week. There is a lot to be done, but we will be returning to Downton soon. I will write or telephone when I know the exact day of our departure, and which train we will take, so you may be prepared for the arrival of the family and remaining staff. Now that the move back to the country is in sight, I think the time will pass more quickly. These last few weeks have seemed particularly interminable to me._

_I hope that you are well and happy now and that I find you so when I return next week._

_Sincerely yours,_

_C. Carson_

#####

Mrs. Hughes was not capable of suppressing her smile for the rest of the day, once she had received news from Mr. Carson that the family would return to Downton in approximately a week's time. She announced it to the staff at dinner and made it clear that they would all be redoubling their efforts at making sure the Abbey was spotless and ready to receive the family and staff that had been in London for the Season. Some of the younger staff were indifferent to the family's return, but there were others who happily anticipated the arrival of their friends after the separation of the Season. Daisy was ready to see Mrs. Patmore again, and Mr. Molesley looked forward to talking more with Miss Baxter, but Mrs. Hughes's impatience for Mr. Carson's return could not be equaled by any of the others. As soon as she knew the day they would return, and on which train, she would be counting the hours.

_To be continued..._

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	18. Farewell to London

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_Of course I will respect your wishes on the subject of retirement. I might wish you would yield to my persuasion to do something I believe would make you happy, but I would not expect you to make the decision lightly, or without your own comfort as your primary concern. You are the person who must live with that decision, after all, not I. I do not anticipate retiring particularly soon, but I look forward to that next season my life. For now I will stay where I am, but I might be persuaded to retire sooner rather than later, given a good reason. I think I shall enjoy retirement quite as much as I've enjoyed my work over my years at Downton Abbey. It is my true home as well, just as you've said it is yours._

_I quite agree with you on the subject of Mr. Molesley and his friend. It is harder to argue for the separation of husband and wife for weeks at a time than it is for a couple who are courting, but I am not even certain of the nature of the friendship between Mr. Molesley and the person we're speaking of, so I do not think it any bad thing that they should be apart for a time. He also does not seem to be terribly cast down by their separation. There is interest, but I do not believe it has yet gone beyond that. If it ever does, I do at least feel that they will behave in a manner that will disrupt downstairs life less than that foolishness last year with Daisy, Ivy, and the two footmen did. But we needn't worry about such an event until it comes to pass._

_I am glad to hear that our family will soon be back together again. I look forward to further news of your return. I will be sure that my maids have the house in the best possible condition in time for the family's arrival._

_Sincerely yours,_

_E. Hughes_

#####

There were a great many things to do at Grantham House in preparation for the move back to Yorkshire, and Mr. Carson went several days without writing to Mrs. Hughes. He had hoped to send her at least one more letter before returning, but the date for leaving London had been pushed up, keeping him even busier and leaving less time to write a letter and post it before leaving himself. Finally, he gave up on the idea of writing and decided to telephone. Hopefully she would be downstairs when he placed the call. The telephone rang six or seven times before it was answered, but it was Mrs. Hughes on the other end of the line.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson said.

"Mr. Carson! I'd been wondering if we'd hear from you. I haven't had a letter with a train time and I'd begun to get a little worried."

"I'm sorry I couldn't write. I've been so busy with preparations for departure. I should have made the time, but-"

"You needn't apologize. Just tell me when the family will be home. Thursday? Friday?"

He cleared his throat. "They will be home Wednesday. I will be home tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Truly?"

"I've wondered the same thing, but Mrs. Bute insists that she has everything under control." He laughed. "I think she will push me out of the door herself tomorrow if I don't go willingly. So yes, you will see me tomorrow back at Downton. It will only be me, though. I won't bring our family along with me as you asked, though they will follow the next day."

She was silent on the other end of the line.

"Is everything all right, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes, fine. Everything's wonderful. What time will you be back?"

"I'll arrive on the two-thirty, if all goes well. Tell Mr. Molesley and the hall boys to be ready for the luggage that will be arriving with me."

"Yes, of course. I'll send them to the station with the car. Have you any orders for me?" she asked.

"Just one. A chat over tea and biscuits at about three-thirty. Your sitting room or my pantry; it's up to you."

"Certainly, Mr. Carson."

"Well, I'd best be going or Mrs. Bute may not be rid of me tomorrow as she wishes."

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "Goodbye, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye."

Mrs. Hughes replaced the earpiece of the telephone and sat down in Mr. Carson's chair. _Tomorrow._ She would have a little more time to prepare for his arrival than she had when he had brought Isis to the country, but it was still much sooner than she had anticipated. The whole family and their entire staff could arrive at this very moment and the house would be ready for them. What was less certain was whether she herself would be ready. Tomorrow, however, _he_ would arrive. She thanked heaven for Mrs. Bute and her determination to get Mr. Carson out of Grantham House a day before the rest of them. She must find a way to thank her someday.

#####

That night Mr. Carson invited Mrs. Bute to his office for tea. They weren't in the habit of meeting in the evenings as he and Mrs. Hughes were, but if there was ever an occasion for it, his last night in London was probably it.

"We'll see each other tomorrow morning, of course," Mr. Carson said, sipping his tea. "But I thought a little chat and wrap-up of the Season might be nice."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson."

"I'm so sorry you were ill," he told her.

"I think you all were well taken care of in my absence, though," she replied. "Your Mrs. Hughes is very efficient, it seems."

"_My_ Mrs. Hughes? What do you mean by that?" Mr. Carson was not angry, but his brows drew together.

Mrs. Bute laughed. "You misunderstand me, Mr. Carson. It's only that Mrs. Patmore sometimes calls her 'our Mrs. Hughes,' as though she belonged to you _all_."

He smiled. "Yes, of course. I think if you paid us a visit at Downton you might be able to call her 'our Mrs. Hughes' yourself. She was sorry you were ill, but glad that she was able to make your acquaintance. She likes you, and thinks you very intelligent and capable."

Mrs. Bute colored faintly at this praise. "That means a lot to me. I know how much you and the others respect Mrs. Hughes. From all I can see she seems almost a genius at what she does. I suspect she could arrive at any large house in England and have things set right in a day or two."

"Very likely," Mr. Carson agreed. "Downton is lucky to have her."

"I hope we will meet again," Mrs. Bute remarked. "I liked her as well."

"I'm glad," he answered. "As for meeting again, I suppose you never know. Life is full of surprises. What will you do until next Season?"

"The same as every year," she replied. "I find temporary work in smaller houses, either in London or nearby. I'm trained as a ladies' maid as well as a housekeeper. In a pinch I can play head housemaid. In between jobs I stay with my brother."

"A century or two ago, Grantham House might have been kept open all year and you'd have been sure of a permanent position. It's unfortunate that your work is so uncertain."

"It isn't ideal, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Bute agreed. "But I make do."

"Do you prefer to be a housekeeper or a ladies' maid?"

"Oh, I much prefer housekeeping," she answered. "But there's quite a lot of competition for the few year-round posts available."

"Her ladyship has given you a reference, though, has she not?"

"Yes, and it's gotten me my best off-Season work. I'm very grateful to her."

"Good. I do wish you luck, Mrs. Bute."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson." She smiled. "I wish you luck as well, though I doubt you will need it."

Mr. Carson sighed. "I just might."

_To be continued..._

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**


	19. A Day Early

Mrs. Hughes was up early Tuesday morning. She dressed herself and paced her bedroom floor until it was time for breakfast. After breakfast she shut herself in her sitting room and paced some more; she couldn't keep still. She was relieved when the time came for her morning rounds, for then at least she had a productive outlet for her nervous energy. Mrs. Hughes wanted to meet the two-thirty train at the station, but she knew she couldn't. The car would be full of luggage on the way back and even if it would not be, she had no good reason for going there - no good reason she could admit, anyway. She would send two of the hall boys off in the car to help with the luggage. She wondered if Mr. Carson would ride with the luggage or walk back from the station, but she tried not to think about it. She tried to focus on three-thirty, when she would be ready for him with a tray of tea and biscuits.

As the time of his return approached, Mrs. Hughes felt a hint of panic. She was not ready. After Mr. Carson's visit a few weeks ago, she had found herself in an unusually flustered state, but it had not passed as she had expected it to. No, her hands still trembled, her heart still pounded, and she was afraid she would not know how to meet him or what to say to him. When she had first realized years ago that she was in love with Mr. Carson, he wasn't away for the Season. She saw him every day and was able to moderate her own behavior because his did not change. This summer had been something extraordinary. On the day by the sea, Mr. Carson had twice taken her hand and waded with her in the water. That evening they had drunk champagne together and the next morning he had seen her off from the house. Then they had embarked on a correspondence that was at turns flirtatious and at turns serious, something entirely new for them. How on earth would she behave? There was no precedent for any of it.

Mrs. Hughes was made of stern stuff, though, and she knew she could do it. After a few minutes of manic worry in her sitting room, she calmed herself and sat down at her desk. She could easily remember the end of every previous Season and how they had each acted when they came together upon his return. All she had to do was repeat her behavior from those occasions. She was always glad to see him, but aside of a smile a bit wider than usual, and a nice long chat over tea, it was like any other day. Mrs. Hughes had kept many secrets over the years for others; she could now keep her own. Thus, she was calm when the back door opened and she heard Mr. Carson's step in the corridor. She thought briefly of staying at her desk and pretending that she had not noticed his entrance, but she rose from her seat and walked to her doorway to greet him.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes," he said softly, smiling at her.

"Welcome home, Mr. Carson," she greeted him with an answering smile.

"The others are taking care of the luggage."

"Then you can change if you like," Mrs. Hughes told him. "It's not quite time for our tea yet."

He nodded. "I'll be back soon, then."

Mr. Carson came back downstairs promptly at three-thirty, where Mrs. Hughes was ready with tea and biscuits in her sitting room. He entered the room and closed the door behind him. They both sat down at her table and Mrs. Hughes prepared tea for him and then for herself.

"How was your journey?" she asked.

"Oh, it was fine. Very ordinary, no delays."

"Good."

"I'm sorry for such short notice on everyone's return."

"Oh, it wasn't a problem. The house is ready now."

They sipped their tea in silence. Mr. Carson stole a glance at Mrs. Hughes, who seemed to find the bottom of her tea cup very interesting.

He cleared his throat and spoke. "How about the um, the vase, Mrs. Hughes?"

"The vase?"

"The one in the drawing room. Her ladyship's favorite? Nothing has happened to it, I hope. Your girls were careful dusting it?"

"Of course. The vase is perfectly fine. Why should you suspect my maids of carelessness?"

"I don't. Of course I don't."

"And at Grantham House I remember a stain on the carpet, after Lady Rose's ball. Was Mrs. Bute able to get it out?"

"Yes, she managed." Mr. Carson frowned and poured another cup of tea. This was all wrong. Why were they talking about vases and carpet stains? His homecoming after the Season was usually a day of easy and pleasant conversation. He wondered what was going on.

"My maids beat every carpet in the house while you were gone."

"Very good. I hope they used proper technique." He glanced up and saw Mrs. Hughes frown and hastened to correct himself. "But of course they did. I know they are all well-trained."

"Yes, they are, Mr. Carson. And I do hope Mr. Barrow and James can manage Grantham House for a day in your absence." There was a hint of sarcasm in her tone, but Mr. Carson let it pass. He probably deserved it.

"I'm sure they can, Mrs. Hughes."

Mrs. Hughes was confused and mildly irritated. She hadn't known quite what to expect of this conversation after the charming smile Mr. Carson had greeted her with, but it certainly hadn't been this ridiculous, stilted talk, not to mention his questioning the skill of her staff. She poured a second cup of tea. Mrs. Hughes found herself wishing, possibly for the first time ever, to escape a conversation with Mr. Carson. But they were in her sitting room; she couldn't very well throw him out. She could, however, stay silent. He could either make conversation or he could take the hint and leave.

In the end Mr. Carson left, very regretfully, but not knowing what else to do. "I need to check with Mr. Molesley on a few things, Mrs. Hughes," he told her. "I'll see you later."

#####

Dinner that evening was no better. In fact, it was worse. They had at least been able to speak to one another in the afternoon. As they ate their dinner, however, several times Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to speak to him, but couldn't think of anything to say, or had forgotten what she was about to say. Mr. Carson just sat there chewing silently, feeling like a fool and trying not to betray his agitation. Just a few short weeks ago, as he and Mrs. Hughes had strolled the grounds talking, their conversation had been easy and relaxed, even after all that had happened between them in London and Brighton and all that had been written between them during their separation up to that point. Mr. Carson could think of only one difference and it _was_ an important one. He knew now that he loved her. Was it making him nervous? It seemed very possible. But what about Mrs. Hughes? She was rarely at a loss for words, and he thought it would be too great a coincidence that she should have somehow come to a similar realization herself between then and now. _Wouldn't it?_ Mr. Carson now recognized the fact that he had been so busy wrestling with himself over what to do about his newly discovered love that he had thought very little about whether she might love him back, either now or in the future. He thought himself a very foolish man. How could he ever manage living in the same house with a woman he was in love with, but could barely speak to?

Mrs. Hughes noticed his scowl and wondered what was wrong. She also wondered what had happened to the man who had written all of the lovely letters she had secreted away in her bedroom. She had hoped that he would return to Downton today, but it seemed that a very awkward and distant version of him had arrived instead. She wanted to tease him for his speechlessness, but she couldn't bring any of her usual gentle gibes to mind and she was mute herself.

Mr. Carson found the situation intolerable. There must be some way out of it. He could try to begin again, perhaps. "Mrs. Hughes, would you care to have a glass of wine with me this evening?" he asked her.

She relaxed a bit and smiled. "I would, Mr. Carson. Thank you."

#####

Mr. Carson sat alone in his pantry that night. Everyone had gone to bed, including Mrs. Hughes. She had joined him for a glass of wine and he had tried to be friendly, but their usual cozy banter had been conspicuously absent. He could tell that Mrs. Hughes was trying to be sociable as well, but she failed as miserably as he did. They spoke clumsily on indifferent topics and separated after a short time together. Mr. Carson rose from his chair and paced the room, trying to come up with a solution. He could remember several occasions in the last month or so when he had paced the floor of his office at Grantham House, trying to decide how to respond to one of Mrs. Hughes's letters, and eventually he always found the words somehow. Now, it wasn't as simple as deciding what to write to her. Or was it? An idea formed in Mr. Carson's mind and he seized it, pacing faster as he worked out a strategy. He didn't know if his plan would work, but it was worth a try if there was a chance it might break this odd stalemate of sorts that he and Mrs. Hughes had found themselves in. If he could not find the words to speak to her as he wished to, he would write instead. Before long Mr. Carson was seated at his desk, pulling out pen and paper, along with another item he thought might inspire him to find the words he needed. He hadn't been able to part with the postcard Mrs. Hughes had tacked up in his office at Grantham House, so he had brought it home with him. He had scribbled the date of their trip to the sea on the back of the card and tucked it away in a drawer. Now he pulled it out and laid it on his desk, glancing at it occasionally as he wrote.

Mr. Carson spent almost an hour on the letter, throwing out a half dozen or so sheets of paper and expending a great quantity of ink, but when he finished, he was pleased with what he had written. It wasn't too long or too short, and he hoped it would make Mrs. Hughes smile. He sealed it in an envelope and walked down the corridor. Her sitting room was locked, but even if he had placed it on her desk, there was a chance she wouldn't see it before breakfast. Mr. Carson made a quick decision and put the letter in his pocket before locking up and switching off all of the lights. He assured himself that all was quiet, took off his shoes, and tiptoed up the maids' staircase. Mr. Carson made his way silently down the women's corridor, thankful that there was just enough light for him to read the tags on the various doors. Otherwise, he wouldn't have known which room was hers and would have had to come up with another plan. When he reached the door to Mrs. Hughes's room, he crouched to the floor and slid the letter under the door, before making his way as quickly as possible back down the maids' staircase. He had considered just using the dividing door, but the noise might have awakened someone. Once he was downstairs again, he put his shoes back on and made his way up the proper staircase and to his own room.

#####

Although she was still awake, ruminating over the events of the day, Mrs. Hughes did not hear Mr. Carson's stealthy steps in the corridor. She did, however, hear the letter sliding across the floor. It was dark and she saw nothing, but she couldn't quite convince herself that she was imagining the sound, so she turned on her lamp. Sure enough, there was something on the floor. She got out of bed, picked up the letter, and immediately recognized Mr. Carson's handwriting. _How very strange! _ She went back to her bed so she could read by the light of her lamp.

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_It may seem odd that I'm writing you a letter when I'm back at Downton, but it seems odd to me that you and I have been unable to have a normal conversation since my return. I hope this letter will provide an opening for us to be at ease with one another again and converse in our usual way._

_I will start by telling you how glad I am to be back at Downton and to see you again. I have enjoyed our correspondence and had hoped that we might continue to discuss some of the topics we wrote about, both the trivial and the more serious. It is sometimes easier to write than to speak, but I think we will both enjoy such conversations once we have made a beginning._

_We had a poor start on Tuesday, but Wednesday morning, we will begin again. At breakfast, I'll ask you if we expect the Dowager Countess or Mrs. Crawley for tea and you may tell me as many amusing stories as you like without risk of a scolding from me. In turn, I will speak to you later of retirement, if you wish, as long as you promise not to try to convert me to your point of view all in one day. I think we can probably muddle along ourselves from there, but if not, we still have pen and paper to help us along._

_I look forward to seeing the rest of the staff at Downton when they return tomorrow afternoon from London. It will be good to have our family back together again._

_Sincerely yours,_

_C. Carson_

Mrs. Hughes smiled and laid the letter on her bedside table. Now she knew that all would be well, one way or another. She fell asleep almost immediately and dreamt, once again, of letters.

_To be continued..._

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	20. Back on Solid Ground

"Good morning, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes greeted him with a genial smile when they were seated for breakfast.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson replied, returning her smile. "Do we expect the dowager or Mrs. Crawley today?"

"Not today, Mr. Carson," she answered. "They know the family returns today and that the house will be at sixes and sevens."

"Oh, I doubt that, Mrs. Hughes," he told her. "Didn't you say the house was ready? I know your maids have been working very hard."

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then I'm sure it's in perfect condition for receiving any guests," Mr. Carson interrupted.

"Perhaps, but-"

"And all of the luggage is unpacked, except what they've got with them, and that isn't much. I think between the two of us we've got the house in much better shape than 'at sixes and sevens.'"

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "I'm sure you're right, Mr. Carson, but regardless of all that, the dowager and Mrs. Crawley will not be joining us today for tea or dinner. I think they'd like to let everyone settle in before they start visiting."

Mr. Carson nodded. "Well, that's a different story then. I think it's very courteous of them to think of the family's comfort. But I'll hear no more talk of this house being in disorder when I know very well that your being in charge of it for the last month or more makes that quite impossible."

"I had forgotten that this was one of the topics we discussed in our letters," she replied, trying to look serious. "You're going to give me a swelled head, Mr. Carson. Do stop exaggerating."

"I never exaggerate."

Mrs. Hughes couldn't help laughing. "This is much better, Mr. Carson," she told him. "Thank you for writing. I think we shall get on fine now."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"You're much better at teasing than I remember," she said, her eyes merry.

"I'm glad to hear that, as well."

Mrs. Hughes chuckled and returned to her food. The family would not arrive from London until the afternoon, but there was always plenty to do. Lady Edith would ring for her at any moment, and after that Mr. Carson would serve breakfast to her and Mr. Branson. In spite of all the rush and bustle that would shortly be upon them, though, Mrs. Hughes's heart was light. The true Mr. Carson had come back to her and she was happy. She felt she could face her work cheerfully and looked forward to another chance at tea with him.

#####

"Mrs. Hughes, I wonder if you might do me a favor," Lady Edith commented as the housekeeper finished styling her hair.

"A favor, milady?" Mrs. Hughes was puzzled.

"Yes, and it's rather a big favor. Madge will be back today, but I wonder if you could continue dressing me even after she's returned. Just in the mornings. You're so much better at doing my hair than Madge is."

"Well, milady, with everyone back in the house it may be difficult for me to continue dressing you, even if it's just in the morning. I'll have to speak to her ladyship and Mr. Carson about it."

"I'll speak to her ladyship as soon as they all return," Lady Edith told her. "You needn't come to me tomorrow morning unless you have seen her first."

"Very good, milady. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

Mrs. Hughes left the room feeling a bit uneasy. She wondered why Lady Edith had made this request. She said it was because Madge wasn't very good at doing hair, but she suspected there might be something else afoot. Lady Edith had told her when she returned from the Continent that it had taken Madge a long time to master her hairstyle, but she _had_ mastered it. The young woman had seemed very fidgety and nervous this morning, as well. Mrs. Hughes knew there wasn't much to be done but wait for Lady Grantham to approach her, but that wouldn't keep her from feeling mightily curious.

#####

Mrs. Hughes was at her desk later that day when she heard the scrape of chairs on the floor of the servants' hall. She went immediately to investigate and found Lady Grantham at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes," the countess greeted the housekeeper, approaching her. "It's you I've come to see. Can we go into your sitting room?"

"Of course, your ladyship." Lady Grantham led the way and Mrs. Hughes followed, closing the door behind them.

"Mrs. Hughes, I understand that Lady Edith has asked you to continue dressing her even though Madge is back from London."

"She has, milady. I told her I would need to speak to you first, and Mr. Carson as well."

"Quite right," the countess agreed. She looked away from Mrs. Hughes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Mrs. Hughes, I'm worried about Lady Edith. I'm determined to find out what is troubling her, but she was so concerned that she have you take care of her in the morning that I didn't want to refuse. Do you think there is any way you can manage it?"

"Well, milady, there might be some difficulty taking care of my other duties if Lady Edith needs me in the morning. Perhaps Mr. Carson would have an idea what we might do," she suggested. "I believe he's just in his pantry, if you'd like me to fetch him."

"Yes, please do. Then we can make a plan."

Mrs. Hughes hurried down the corridor and entered the pantry. "Mr. Carson, you'd better come," she told him. "Her ladyship is in my sitting room."

Mr. Carson was startled and got up immediately to follow her. "What's wrong?"

"Not wrong, exactly," she answered, as they went quickly back down the corridor. "You'll understand shortly."

In a few moments the three were behind the closed door of the housekeeper's sitting room.

"Her ladyship has asked me to continue looking after Lady Edith in the mornings," Mrs. Hughes explained. "I'm not sure if I can do that and see to my morning rounds."

"We thought you might have a suggestion, Carson," Lady Grantham put in.

"Well, I would be glad to help if I could, but I don't think I can reliably be available to make rounds, even if it were just of the main floor rooms." Mr. Carson thought for a moment. "What about your head housemaid? Might she be entrusted with checking things until you finish with Lady Edith and can take over for her?"

The countess was thrilled. "That's an excellent idea! If you think she's up to it, Mrs. Hughes."

"I'm not sure if she is or not, but I'm willing to give it a try."

"Thank you _so much_, Mrs. Hughes. I will let Lady Edith know. And this won't be permanent, I promise. I'm sure we can find a way soon to let you get back to your regular duties." Lady Grantham smiled and moved to leave the room, but turned briefly to speak once more to Mrs. Hughes. "I want to make it clear that I am not asking you to spy on Lady Edith. I would wish to know if she were ill or in some serious trouble, but otherwise, you may keep her confidences." The countess now nodded to both of them and left the room.

Mr. Carson closed the door again after her. "What was that about?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. Lady Edith says it's because I'm better at doing her hair than Madge, but I think there is something else going on."

"What do you suspect?"

She shook her head. "I hardly know. Her ladyship seems to think Lady Edith is in distress of some kind and wanted to let her have her way in this while she investigates."

"I hope it is not too much for you, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson said, concerned.

"I can manage."

"Of course you can. But if you find it getting to be too much, please let me know and I'll see what I can do to help." He reached out and touched her arm briefly, then smiled. "We can't have you getting ill."

Mrs. Hughes smiled back. "Thank you, Mr. Carson."

#####

"So now you admit that you might enjoy retirement?" Mrs. Hughes asked, as they sat alone in Mr. Carson's pantry that night.

"I'm a long way from ready to retire now, but the more I think about it, the less dreadful it sounds." Mr. Carson took a sip of his wine.

"Then, by all means, keep thinking about it!"

"You've been very persuasive, Mrs. Hughes."

She laughed. "Well, isn't this a summer of surprises!"

"Yes, it is," he replied, smiling thoughtfully.

"What's changed your mind?"

"Not one single thing, really, but many different things. Mainly, though, you've got me away from my imaginings of retirement as a lonely, solitary time."

"Which it won't be at all," Mrs. Hughes put in. "Unless you let it be. You'll have to make a _little_ effort to avoid becoming a hermit, but I suspect even if you don't do a great deal of visiting you'll not spend much time alone that you don't want to be alone."

"So you think I'll receive a lot of visitors?" Mr. Carson asked.

"Of course you will! Lady Mary I'm sure will want to see you, even if she can't make time very often. And some of the staff - Mrs. Patmore of course, Anna and Mr. Bates, maybe even Daisy."

"And what about you?"

"Well, that goes without saying, doesn't it, Mr. Carson?" she replied. "If I retire first, you can come see me on your half-day. If _you _retire first, I'll come see you on _my_ half-day. And once we're both out of harness we can visit each other as often as we like. You'll tell me all about London's sights and I'll school you on the prices of beef and tea and the like. You may tire of my company, however, once you've learned how to buy your own groceries."

"I'm sure you could never bore me, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Carson smiled at her.

"Very well. And I know you could never bore me, so I think we shall get along well, even when we've no Downton business to discuss."

"I'm sure we shall. Even now, the house isn't the only thing we ever talk about."

"You're right, Mr. Carson. The last time we spoke alone of only house business was yesterday."

Mr. Carson grimaced. "Don't remind me. I do apologize if it seemed like I doubted your maids. I'm not sure what came over me."

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "You needn't apologize. Whatever it was, it came over both of us, but thankfully seems to have gone now."

"Yes, thankfully," he agreed. "Mrs. Hughes, I have a question for you now, about _your_ retirement, if I may."

"Of course. Ask away."

"You said in one of your letters that you weren't planning a change anytime soon, but that there might be things that could change your mind - that you might retire sooner. What did you mean by that?"

Mrs. Hughes was a bit flustered. "Well, I suppose I might go sooner if I discovered that I couldn't keep up with my duties."

Mr. Carson was surprised at her ruffled composure. It seemed to him a straightforward question. "Anything else? Perhaps if your sister asked you to live with her?"

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "I couldn't go to Lytham St Annes. When I'm retired I'll be able to visit my sister more often, but I don't want to leave Downton permanently. She has her own family. She doesn't need me."

"I'm glad that you plan to stay."

"Are you?" Mrs. Hughes looked at him questioningly.

"Of course," Mr. Carson answered. "I'm glad to know you love Downton as I do."

She smiled. "Perhaps not exactly in the same way as you do, but it is my home. There's no doubt of that. And just like you, I'd miss the people here if I left." Mrs. Hughes allowed herself to look directly into his eyes before she spoke softly. "They're my family. I was sorry to be separated from them during the Season."

"Don't tell me you missed me," Mr. Carson teased.

"I did, Mr. Carson, very much," she answered seriously, her eyes never leaving his.

"And I, you," he told her. "Very much."

_To be continued..._

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	21. Weariness

Unfortunately the head housemaid was not up to the task of getting Mrs. Hughes' rounds started. The first two days were fine, but on the third day, Mr. Carson found the library untidy, in spite of Eliza's having assured him that it was ready. Mrs. Hughes relieved her of these duties and altered her own schedule so she could manage it. She rose an hour early and had Daisy fix her something to eat, so she could check all of the main floor rooms while the others were eating breakfast and before Lady Edith rang. She dressed Lady Edith and then went back to her usual duties, and with some haste was able to catch up by mid-afternoon. It was not ideal, but it was manageable. Mrs. Hughes lost an hour of sleep, but was otherwise able to keep everything going, including her nightly chats with Mr. Carson. They had always met regularly, but since his return from London, they met every single night, either in his pantry or her sitting room.

Mrs. Hughes's life was further complicated about two weeks after the family returned. Miss Baxter received a telegram with news that her sister was ill and she had to leave immediately to see to her. Anna was able to see to most of Lady Grantham's needs while still dressing Lady Mary, but Mrs. Hughes was sometimes needed to dress the countess when Lady Mary made occasional day trips to London and took Anna with her. What really threw the house into an uproar, however, was when Madge turned up missing a few days later. Mr. Carson was on the point of summoning the police when Mrs. Hughes found a note hidden among the papers on her desk. Madge had left Downton Abbey and would not be coming back. Mrs. Hughes did not begrudge the maid any happiness in her planned marriage, but she failed to understand why Madge had felt she must leave without notice. With Miss Baxter gone for an undetermined period of time, and the unfortunate Eliza not trained as a lady's maid, all four ladies in the house were left to the care of Anna and Mrs. Hughes. Lady Edith began to dress herself, only asking for help with her hair in the morning and the occasional hook or button that she could not reach, but the others, though they made no complaint over delays and inconsistencies, still provided a great deal of extra work for Anna and Mrs. Hughes. An advertisement was placed, but until a new maid could be hired, or Miss Baxter returned, nothing could be done.

#####

Two weeks later, Mrs. Hughes stood in Mr. Carson's pantry while he poured two glasses of wine. He gestured for her to take a seat, but she shook her head. Once he had set down the wine and glasses he approached her and tried to usher her to her chair with a hand on the small of her back, but she would not move.

"Please sit, Mrs. Hughes. You don't look well at all." Although there were dark circles under her eyes and a few curls had escaped her ruthlessly tight hairstyle, he thought she was beautiful.

"I'm afraid if I sit I won't be able to get up again," she told him.

Mr. Carson was alarmed. "Then perhaps it would be best for you to forgo your glass of wine and go to bed right now."

"I don't want to do that, either," she murmured. "This is my favorite part of the day. Talking with you every evening keeps me from going mad."

"Well, I'm glad of that," he replied gently. "But if you make yourself ill you won't be able to chat with me in the evenings, or even see me at all."

"I suppose you're right," she admitted. "They'll have one of the maids checking in on me if I'm ill. Although it does seem odd that I may come and go in and out of your room as I please when you're ill, but it doesn't work the other way round."

"Would you want footmen visiting sick maids?"

Mrs. Hughes scoffed. "I wouldn't want maids to visit sick footmen, either. But it's hardly the same, is it? You and I are different."

Mr. Carson fixed her with an intense gaze, then shrugged. "Perhaps. But I don't think you would find me a very good nurse."

She relaxed into a slight smile. "Perhaps not."

"Mrs. Hughes, if you will not sit, I will stand with you, and we can chat. Why don't you tell me what is troubling you?"

"Miss Baxter," she began. "I've just had a letter from her, Mr. Carson."

"What's she got to say?"

"She wants to return, but she's still trying to settle her sister's situation. She'll be gone at least two more weeks."

Mr. Carson could see where this was going. "So you'll be playing ladies' maid and housekeeper, with no head housemaid for help."

Mrs. Hughes's voice shook, but her eyes were dry as she stared at nothing. "I'm not sure how I can possibly do it all. I'm already up at three o'clock every morning. There aren't many more hours in a day, and I must sleep."

Mr. Carson was shocked. "Three o'clock! Mrs. Hughes, you really must speak to her ladyship. You can't continue like this."

"Probably not. But we've advertised. And until we replace Madge-"

"Yes, I know, you haven't time to further train Eliza until you replace Madge." Mr. Carson hesitated for a few moments, but moved toward Mrs. Hughes and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "Don't fear, Mrs. Hughes," he said soothingly, as she laid her head against his chest. "We will think of something."

Mrs. Hughes didn't argue. She felt safe and warm and protected, and she was sure if she fell asleep like this, Mr. Carson would not let her fall. Her hands crept up to rest on his chest as well, on either side of her head. Mr. Carson rubbed her back gently and she sighed as some of the tension of the last few weeks left her body.

"Tomorrow morning, take care of the young ladies as you have been." Mrs. Hughes did not argue, only nodded against his chest. "But then you must speak to her ladyship. Tell her everything you've been doing for the last several weeks. And of course she must know of Miss Baxter's letter."

"I don't know when I'll find the time to speak to her ladyship, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes's words slurred together a little. She was losing the battle with sleep.

"We'll worry about that once you've gotten through breakfast," he murmured. "For now just concentrate on getting yourself to bed before you drop to the floor right here and now." Mr. Carson wouldn't have minded if she had fallen asleep leaning against him, but he knew that was entirely impractical, so he tried to help her towards the attics. He drew away from her and pulled her arm through his so she could lean against his arm as they walked down the corridor. Her steps faltered and she gave a great yawn as they made their plodding way in the direction of the maids' staircase, where he let her go. Mrs. Hughes took the first step on her own, leaning heavily on the railing, but Mr. Carson was not satisfied with how unstable she appeared. He decided to take her arm and accompany her up to her room, but a moment later he changed his mind and lifted her in his arms instead. He was wearing his shoes this time, but he tried to be as silent as he could as he carried her up the stairs and to her room. When he reached her door he was going to set her on her feet and let her enter under her own power, but by that time she was fast asleep. He quietly entered and laid her on her bed. She would be uncomfortable the next morning if she slept in her evening clothes, but he couldn't bear to wake her, so there was nothing else to be done. He allowed himself to remove her shoes, but nothing more. She lay on top of her sheet and blanket, but he found a spare blanket in the cupboard and covered her with it before leaving the room, closing the door, and hurrying downstairs.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Carson's heart was pounding from the exertion and the fear of discovery. Nothing improper had occurred between them and that would be obvious to any witness, but all the same he didn't fancy having to explain his reason for being in the women's corridor late at night. Even a hint of impropriety could damage reputations and undermine authority. He was relieved to be safely in his own bed a quarter of an hour later, worrying about Mrs. Hughes, but also thinking of how wonderful she had felt in his arms, both as she leant against him in his pantry, and as he carried her to her bedroom. The situation had not been even slightly romantic, but Mr. Carson had been glad to be of service to her. He didn't often get the chance; she rarely needed help, and when she did she was still unlikely to accept it. He was already making a plan for how he would help her tomorrow. He knew she might be angry, but something had to be done.

#####

Mr. Carson found Lady Grantham embroidering in the drawing room the next morning just as soon as Anna had told him that the countess was dressed and out of her room. She was alone, thankfully; he preferred not to have the conversation with any witnesses present.

"Your ladyship, I wonder if I might have a word," he intoned.

"Yes, of course," she answered pleasantly. "What is it?"

"Something has been going on that I think you may not be aware of."

Lady Grantham set down her embroidery, looking concerned. "That sounds very serious, Carson. What is it?"

"As you know, Mrs. Hughes has taken on a number of extra duties since Madge left so unexpectedly."

"Yes, and I'm sure it must be a dreadful disturbance to her routine." The countess frowned.

"Mrs. Hughes has also had a letter from Miss Baxter, who reports that she will not be back for at least two more weeks. An advertisement has of course been placed for Madge's replacement, but until a new maid arrives or Miss Baxter returns..."

"Yes, I suppose that is too much to ask of Mrs. Hughes even with the head housemaid taking care of some of her morning rounds."

"Unfortunately, milady, Eliza proved not to be up to the task set before her, so Mrs. Hughes has been rising early and taking care of her rounds of the main floor while the rest of the staff eat breakfast. She takes her other meals on a tray at her desk. Her own work has been so disrupted that she is now rising at about three o'clock in the morning just to make sure everything gets done, and she seldom goes to bed before eleven."

The countess's eyes widened. "Three o'clock! Why did no one tell me of this?"

"I wasn't aware of all of it until yesterday, milady, when Mrs. Hughes told me of the letter she had received from Miss Baxter. I'm afraid Mrs. Hughes will make herself ill if she continues on in this way."

"She certainly will! And we can't have that, can we, Carson?"

"No, milady, we can't. The house couldn't run without her."

"Thank you for telling me, Carson. I'll see to this matter right away."

"Thank you, milady. Will there be anything else?"

"No, Carson, that will be all."

_To be continued..._

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	22. Actions and Words

Mrs. Hughes found Mr. Carson in his pantry with the door half-open when she went looking for him later that day. She knocked, entered without waiting for his answer, and closed the door behind her. Mr. Carson had been preparing himself for this moment. He looked up at her, wary of the anger he expected, and ready to explain why he had done what he had done.

"You spoke to her ladyship, Mr. Carson," she stated evenly.

"I did."

"Mr. Carson, you-"

"Mrs. Hughes, let me assure you that I have complete faith in your ability to do your job and do it well. I only spoke to her ladyship because-"

"Mr. Carson-" she tried to interrupt.

"I was worried that the demands being placed on you might eventually become too much and that you would become ill. You told me last evening that you didn't know when you might find time to speak to her ladyship today, so I took it upon myself to speak to her for you. Perhaps this was high-handed of me, but it is done now and, I believe, done for the best." Mr. Carson let his defense rest and waited for the verdict.

Mrs. Hughes just smiled. "I only wanted to thank you, Mr. Carson, for speaking to her ladyship and for what you did last night."

At first his eyebrows rose in surprise, but soon he was smiling back at her. "What did I do last night?"

"You know very well what you did," she scoffed lightly. "If it hadn't been for you, the kitchen maids would have found me this morning, asleep on the floor in that corridor."

"Well, I'm glad I could help," he replied.

"And thank you for taking my shoes off," she added. "You didn't have to do that, but I was much more comfortable because you did."

Mr. Carson was a little embarrassed and managed to change the subject. "Well, I'm glad you aren't angry that I spoke to her ladyship."

"It's true that I could have spoken to her myself, but your speaking up for me meant one less thing I had to do this morning. I suspect you did a better job of it than I would have, too."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm so tired that half the time I can barely string a coherent sentence together. Lady Edith and Lady Rose must have thought me mad or ill this morning."

"So what did her ladyship say?"

"Anna will manage her ladyship and Lady Mary and the younger ladies will have to muddle through with one of the housemaids and each other for help. The dowager will send her maid up to the house for a few hours every day to help Anna manage all the delicate laundry. Her ladyship has released me from all of my ladies' maid duties, with one exception. I'm to keep dressing Lady Edith's hair. Her ladyship said she wouldn't have asked it except that Lady Edith seems keen on my company."

"I don't blame her."

Mrs. Hughes colored slightly. "Well, that's as may be, but I am very grateful to her ladyship. And to you."

"I'm just glad everything's been sorted out."

Mrs. Hughes looked at Mr. Carson, standing over her with his great brows drawn together. He seemed to be scrutinizing her face in detail. She turned away. "Please don't look at me like that, Mr. Carson. I must look frightful, as little as I've been sleeping lately."

"Nonsense, you look lovely." The words had slipped out before Mr. Carson could stop them, or even think about them. He flushed as she returned her surprised gaze to his face. He was embarrassed that he had said so much, but he would not apologize - at least not yet. If she was angry at him for his forwardness, she would certainly let him know, and he could make amends, but he didn't think she would be. And if she didn't mind it, why shouldn't he tell her she was lovely? She deserved to hear it from someone. He cleared his throat. "Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?"

"Yes, I will. I'll be glad to be back, and no mistake. I was getting tired of sandwiches for dinner every night."

Mr. Carson laughed. "A hot dinner will do you a great deal of good, then."

"I think I'll go to bed right after dinner tonight, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes told him. "Perhaps tomorrow we can take up our evening chats again."

"That sounds lovely."

"Mr. Carson, can I ask you a favor?"

"Anything."

"Would you... do what you did last night? I promise not to fall asleep on you this time." Mrs. Hughes was blushing furiously, but she smiled all the same.

Mr. Carson was surprised. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. We can talk for a minute or two and then I'll be on my way."

"All right." Mr. Carson approached Mrs. Hughes, but this time she moved in his direction as well. When they met in the middle, she rested her head and her hands against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

They were silent. After a little while, Mr. Carson began to rub her back gently, as he had the night before. Mrs. Hughes barely remembered anything of those moments beyond how warm and safe she had felt, but now that she was a little more alert, she was very aware of the way he smelled, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and the warmth that emanated through his clothing and seeped through her skin where she touched him. It occurred to her that this could be rather dangerous, but so had been a number of things she had said and done and written this summer. Mrs. Hughes was taking her own advice and 'living a little.'

The night before, Mr. Carson had certainly noticed the way she smelled and how soft she was in his arms, but he had been primarily occupied with the task of keeping her upright and getting her safely to bed. Now he felt intoxicated by her delicious scent, something warm and sweet, and wanted to let his hands wander further down her body. But he kept one arm around her shoulder and let the other continue to rub her back in what he hoped was a comforting manner. Mrs. Hughes sighed in contentment and he permitted himself the pleasure of resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. She stirred slightly in his arms, breathing deeply and smoothing her hands over his waistcoat.

The back door slammed and Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were startled out of their reverie.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson said, releasing her from his embrace but letting his hands rest on her shoulders. "I know you wanted to talk."

She pulled away from him, simply smiling and shaking her head. "It's all right, Mr. Carson," she murmured. "Sometimes talking isn't necessary."

They stood apart from each other for a few moments, regarding one another seriously, before Mrs. Hughes turned to leave the room. Before she opened the door, however, she smiled at Mr. Carson over her shoulder. "I'll see you at dinner." And then she was gone.

Mr. Carson remained where he stood, pondering Mrs. Hughes's words. _Sometimes talking isn't necessary._ He wondered if there was some hidden meaning behind them. Did she know how he felt? He sometimes thought it must be written all over his face and that everyone who looked at him must see it, but no one seemed to notice. Another question he couldn't help contemplating was how _she_ felt. Did she love him? If she didn't now, could she ever?

#####

Mrs. Hughes stood just outside the doorway to the servants' hall watching the rest of the staff gather for dinner. Mr. Carson sat with his eyes closed and his hands folded over his stomach, waiting for dinnertime. Mrs. Hughes wondered if she could do the same, but then reminded herself that once she got through dinner she would be seeking the sanctuary of her room and rising at a more normal hour tomorrow. She tried to avoid disturbing Mr. Carson by being very quiet as she walked to her place and pulled out her chair, but as soon as she did, Mr. Carson's eyes flew open.

"Mr. Barrow," the butler called out in his most authoritative tone. Mrs. Hughes stayed where she was.

The under butler was taken by surprise. "Yes, Mr. Carson." Mr. Barrow, and the rest of the room's occupants, waited for Mr. Carson's pronouncement.

"After all the years you've spent at Downton, I would expect you to have learned _something_ about the courtesy that is due a lady."

"Yes, Mr. Carson." Mr. Barrow hadn't the slightest idea what he might have done wrong; he was caught on the back foot and could do nothing but wait. Mr. Carson was sure to enlighten him eventually.

"Why have you allowed Mrs. Hughes to pull out her own chair?"

Mr. Barrow clattered out of his seat. "I'm sorry Mr. Carson. It won't happen again. It's only that with Mrs. Hughes missing so often from the table recently, I'd gotten out of the habit."

"Then I suggest you get back _in_ the habit," Mr. Carson replied scathingly. "And it's not _my_ pardon you should be begging."

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Barrow apologized. "Please have a seat," he offered, allowing her to sit and pushing her chair in. "It's good to have you back with us."

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Hughes answered. "I'm glad to be back."

Mr. Carson closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his chair again, but an almost imperceptible smile played over his lips. Mrs. Hughes bit her lip. She stole a few glances at him as she waited for dinner to be served. She wished she could stare openly at him; he was terribly handsome and she didn't often have the opportunity to watch him while he was at rest. It wasn't long before Ivy entered and began to serve up the stew, and when Mr. Carson opened his eyes he caught Mrs. Hughes watching him. She looked away quickly.

"Like Mr. Barrow, I am glad you are back with us, Mrs. Hughes," he told her. It was mostly her imagination, she knew, but Mrs. Hughes felt his deep voice resonating through her entire body.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I am glad to be here."

"And you'll be going up to bed right after dinner?"

"I will. You needn't worry that I'll be stubborn and fight it. I haven't the energy right now. But be assured that tomorrow I will be my usual obstinate self, arguing with you at every turn."

Mr. Carson laughed. "I would expect no less."

"To be honest, though, I'm not sure that's entirely true," Mrs. Hughes allowed. "I'm beginning to feel I'm too old for all of that."

Mr. Carson let his spoon fall into his bowl. "What?"

"I'm an old woman, Mr. Carson."

"Hardly," he scoffed.

"I mean it," she insisted. "I'm so dreadfully tired. I wonder sometimes how much longer I can work, and how much longer I can keep making trouble for you."

"I won't listen to this," Mr. Carson argued, growing agitated. "You're tired because for weeks you've been doing more every day than any woman, young or old, should attempt to do in a single day. Don't make pronouncements based on how you feel right now. Tomorrow or next week, perhaps, but not today."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Very well," she relented. "Tomorrow, perhaps."

"And you are _not_ old, Mrs. Hughes," he persisted. "You're energetic and capable and not even slightly old."

Mrs. Hughes gave him a skeptical look. "Regardless of all that, Mr. Carson, pick up your spoon and eat your stew. His lordship will ring at any moment. We can't have your rumbling stomach disturbing his evening port."

Mr. Carson smiled reluctantly and followed her directive. They finished eating in silence, each glancing up at the other from time to time. Sometimes their eyes met and sometimes they didn't. When the bell rang, Mr. Carson pushed his chair back reluctantly. "I'll see you at breakfast, then, Mrs. Hughes?" He looked just past her, his censorious eye landing on Mr. Barrow once again. The under butler helped Mrs. Hughes from her chair and quickly left the room.

"You will, Mr. Carson," she said with a nod. "Good night."

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

_To be continued..._

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	23. News

"You seem rather chipper today, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Edith commented. "Are you glad to be back to just being housekeeper again? Aside of still dressing my hair, that is."

"Yes, I suppose I am," she answered.

"What's that song you're humming?"

Mrs. Hughes had to think for a moment; she hadn't even realized that she was humming. "It's called _Three O'Clock in the Morning_. That's what time I've been rising every morning, until today."

"That's not what the song is about, though, is it?" Lady Edith asked. "I know I've heard it, too, but I can't quite remember the lyrics."

"It's about waltzing all night with one's sweetheart."

Lady Edith looked remorseful. "So rather the opposite of what you've been doing!"

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "I'm afraid so. No dancing sweetheart for me. But I slept until six today, which was almost as good!"

Lady Edith laughed. "I really am sorry about all the trouble we've caused, Mrs. Hughes."

The housekeeper shook her head. "Nonsense, it wasn't you. A great many things came together all at once to cause trouble. But there's no harm done, milady. I'm back on my feet, frightening my maids and exasperating Mr. Carson."

Lady Edith was surprised. "Exasperating Carson? I thought the two of you got on well together."

"Of course we do. That's just our way. He knows I don't mean anything by my teasing, just as I know he doesn't mean any harm when he scolds me about silly things." Mrs. Hughes didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. She had no idea why she was talking to Lady Edith about these things, and apparently had no control over the words that just seemed to spill out.

"That sounds rather lovely, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Edith replied thoughtfully. "To know you can trust the person you work so closely with."

"It _is_ rather lovely," Mrs. Hughes agreed. "We respect each other, and that's very important in our jobs. I think it could be a real struggle if we didn't."

"It's hard to imagine what that must be like," Lady Edith murmured.

Mrs. Hughes looked at her in the mirror. "I'm sure that's not true, milady," she said gently. "Your parents respect you; your whole family does."

"They wouldn't if they knew everything about me."

Mrs. Hughes stopped arranging Lady Edith's hair and let her hands rest on the young woman's shoulders. "I'm not sure you give them the credit they deserve. Her ladyship is worried about you, milady. That's why she's allowed me to continue dressing your hair. She wants you to be happy, more than anything else."

Lady Edith stiffened. "She's asked you to spy on me," she said flatly.

"No, milady," Mrs. Hughes answered calmly. "In fact she instructed me specifically _not_ to spy on you. She asked me to tell her if you were ill or in danger, but otherwise advised me to keep your confidence."

"I don't understand."

"I think she hopes you will confide in her on your own, milady." Mrs. Hughes returned to her work. Lady Edith did not answer, lost in thought. Mrs. Hughes finished dressing her hair and moved to leave the room. "Will that be all, milady?"

"What? Oh, yes, that will be all. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

#####

"To getting back to normal," Mr. Carson toasted, raising his glass.

"I'll drink to that," Mrs. Hughes agreed, raising her glass, then taking a sip.

"Are you feeling better today?"

"I am," she told him, smiling. "Still a bit tired, but a good night's sleep did me a lot of good."

"I'm glad."

"Mr. Carson, I have some news."

"Oh?" He was curious. "What kind of news?"

"The kind I'd rather you didn't tell anyone yet," Mrs. Hughes replied. "I thought you should be the first to know." Mr. Carson didn't speak, but waited. "I've decided to retire."

"What?" He was taken completely by surprise. "Why?"

"You may be surprised to know that it was something you said that convinced me."

Mr. Carson was dismayed. Her news was upsetting enough, but now to find that he had somehow unknowingly had a hand in her decision troubled him a great deal. "I don't understand."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "It was when you told me last night that I wasn't old. You were quite insistent."

"And that made you decide to retire?" He was completely bewildered.

"It did," she told him. "I was so dreadfully tired that I felt far older than I usually do, and you reminded me that I have plenty of life left in me. But you see, Mr. Carson, I don't want to wait until I'm old and tired to retire. I'd like to have some time left to enjoy myself when I leave service."

"But…"

Mrs. Hughes frowned at him. "Are you all right, Mr. Carson?" she asked. "You don't seem quite yourself."

"I don't want you to go," he blurted out.

"Why not?"

"I'll miss you," he admitted quietly.

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "I'll only be going to a cottage on the estate, not off to Haxby Park or some such."

"What do you mean by that?" Mr. Carson asked, his brows drawing together.

"Come, Mr. Carson, we've been talking about this most of the summer. You can come see me anytime you like. And I'm sure I'll visit the house regularly."

"What did you mean about not going off to Haxby Park?" he wanted to know. "Why should you mention Haxby?"

"It was only five years ago that you planned to leave Downton yourself."

"That was different."

"It certainly _was_ different, Mr. Carson," she replied, becoming a little irritated. "You were going to leave us entirely."

"And I seem to remember you trying to talk me out of it, Mrs. Hughes," he reminded her, his voice rising.

"I was only worried you'd be unhappy at Haxby," she argued.

"And I'm only worried that _you_ will be unhappy away from Downton!" Mr. Carson persisted.

"But I won't _be_ away from Downton!" Mrs. Hughes sighed, exasperated. "Mr. Carson, I'll give you a little time to get used to the idea, but I hope you can eventually be happy for me." She rose from her seat and headed for the door.

"Mrs. Hughes, wait."

"I'm going to bed, Mr. Carson. We can talk about this another time." Mrs. Hughes left the pantry quickly, closing the door behind her.

Mr. Carson took a sip of his wine. Mrs. Hughes's glass was still on the table, only half-finished. How had things so quickly gotten out of hand? Yesterday he had held her in his arms and they had chatted over dinner and now she had left his pantry without even finishing her glass of wine. He had so looked forward to their chat tonight, but he had made her angry and now she was gone. He had been blindsided by her announcement that she would be retiring, but even more surprised by her reference to Haxby Park. He knew he had not reacted well, and he knew he ought to apologize tomorrow, but he was still having some difficulty understanding it all.

Why was it so strange that Mrs. Hughes should wish to retire? Mr. Carson had considered it himself, especially this summer. If he really examined these vague plans and schemes, though, he could see that none of them ever included her leaving Downton first. He had sometimes imagined her taking a few hours out of her day to come take tea with him at his cottage, bringing some treat from Mrs. Patmore and plenty of gossip from the house, but most of the time he imagined them both retired and visiting each other, spending hours in comfortable conversation. His daydreams had recently begun to include visits to a Ripon teashop together, leisurely dinners at her home or his, and sometimes even a goodnight kiss on the cheek.

Mr. Carson scowled. It was really his own fault. He'd allowed himself these daydreams, even considered the possibility that they might marry someday, but it had never occurred to him that he would not be in control of the timing of it all. Mrs. Hughes was an individual with her own will, independent of his plans and imaginings; naturally not all their schemes would coincide. He had previously had the vague intention of eventually retiring, but now that Mrs. Hughes was leaving Downton, would his own plans change? How would they change?

Mr. Carson's head was beginning to ache. There was no point in staying down here any longer. He knew he would have difficulty sleeping, but at least he'd be more comfortable in bed wearing pajamas than sitting in his pantry with his stiff collar digging into his neck. Mr. Carson swallowed the remainder of his wine and was on his way to the pantry door when he had a sudden idea. Another letter. Sometimes he was better at expressing himself in writing than in conversation. He could keep rewriting until his words sounded like what he wanted to say.

#####

A short time later Mr. Carson found himself tiptoeing shoeless down the women's corridor again and sliding a letter under Mrs. Hughes's bedroom door. This time she was already asleep, and she found the letter the next morning.

_Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_I'd like to apologize for my behavior when you told me of your plans to retire. You surprised me, and I reacted poorly. I hope you will forgive me and give me another chance to be happy for you. I would be honored to be among the earliest to visit you in your new home._

_I probably should not make a habit of writing you late-night letters and slipping them under your door, or I will eventually be caught skulking about the women's corridor. I'm not sure if my dignity would survive that. However, if a letter needs to be written and delivered for our friendship to be preserved, it is worth the risk._

_Sincerely yours,_

_C. Carson_

Mrs. Hughes read this note when she awoke, and it made her smile. Although it wasn't really necessary, she scribbled a quick reply before going downstairs. It wasn't urgent that he read it immediately, so she left the note on his desk.

_To be continued..._

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	24. For Better or Worse

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_Our friendship has survived much worse over the years than any of the disagreements we've had this summer. For better or worse, I will always be your friend. Please remember that. I will happily welcome you into my home at any time, and I hope that you might be my first visitor._

_Sincerely yours,_

_E. Hughes_

Mr. Carson found the note after breakfast. It was only a few sentences long, but it took his breath away, and he read it several times over before putting it in his pocket. He found himself pulling it out and rereading it throughout the day when he had a free moment, and by the time he met Mrs. Hughes that evening for a glass of wine in his pantry, he could have recited it from memory. In particular, his mind seemed drawn to that second sentence. _For better or worse, I will always be your friend._ He was happy to have her assurance that she would always be his friend, but the way she stated it drove him into a state of mad speculation. _For better or worse. _Surely Mrs. Hughes was far too intelligent to write such a thing without thinking of what the phrase could imply. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part?

Mr. Carson remembered now that journey he had made by train from Downton to London after he had brought Isis to the country. He had looked at his own odd behavior over the summer and seen that it was all caused by his being in love, rather than his being mad. Today, however, Mr. Carson was beginning to believe that he was in love _and_ mad.

"Thank you for your letter, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes commented as they sat down with their glasses.

"You're welcome," he responded. "And thank you for your reply."

She nodded, but looked pensive, even worried.

Mr. Carson frowned. "What is it?" he asked.

"There's something making me uneasy."

"Can I help?" he wanted to know.

"Perhaps you can, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes replied. "I know that most housekeepers, and most butlers, do not retire at such an early age as mine. Some do not retire at all, but work right up until the day they die."

"That is true," Mr. Carson agreed, wondering what she was getting at.

"I wonder if the family will be dissatisfied with my wish to retire before I am too old to enjoy myself. There has been occasional mention over the years of a cottage on the estate, but they have no obligation to take care of me. I am still capable of doing my job. Perhaps they will think me ungrateful and or that I am taking advantage and let me go my own way. What do you say, Mr. Carson?"

"I say you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Hughes. If his lordship or her ladyship mentioned even once the intention of providing you with your own home, neither will go back on such a promise. And far from thinking you ungrateful, I can assure that they both hold you in high respect and esteem."

Mrs. Hughes was calmed by his reassurances, and smiled. "I suppose I must believe you, since I know if you allowed yourself to influence me falsely, it would be in the opposite direction."

"Mrs. Hughes, I've told you that-"

"Yes, I know. You are an honest man, and I am only teasing. I'm afraid I just can't help myself sometimes. I am sorry."

Mr. Carson relaxed and smiled. "I don't mind. And I have something to tell you that will prove that I am taking your retirement plans seriously."

Her interest was piqued. "Oh? And what is that?"

"I've had a thought about who we might bring in as housekeeper once you've gone," he told her.

"Ah, yes, my replacement! Who do you have in mind?"

Mr. Carson gave her a little smile. "She'll never replace you, Mrs. Hughes-"

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "You are determined on flattery in that quarter, aren't you?"

He gave her a mischievous smile, but didn't answer. "I was thinking that Mrs. Bute might be a good candidate. She knows the family and some of the staff already, so she would just need training on managing a larger house."

"That's a very good idea."

"Once you have spoken to her ladyship about your plans, I will make that recommendation so that she may write to Mrs. Bute with the offer before you have left us. I think it will benefit us all if you can provide at least some of her training."

"Of course," Mrs. Hughes agreed. "But will she be able to get away immediately? Has she another post she would have to abandon?"

"I know she'll come," Mr. Carson told her. "Off-season work is hard to find. A position like yours is what she seeks, but the competition is fierce when one comes available. She has to take short-term jobs as a housekeeper or lady's maid when Grantham House is closed."

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "You speak well of Mrs. Bute, so she seems like an ideal candidate. And I would feel more comfortable knowing I am not leaving the house in the hands of a complete stranger."

"She'll never be as good as you, of course. No one could. You're not replaceable."

Mrs. Hughes blushed. "Mr. Carson, I really must ask you to stop spouting this nonsense."

He looked at her, his expression solemn. "I am happy for you, Mrs. Hughes, if this is what you want, but I truly will miss you. Oh, I know, I will still see you, but it won't be the same. Even _you_ can't deny that."

"No, I can't, nor can I deny that I will miss you as well," she admitted, returning his serious gaze.

"I may have to consider retirement myself," Mr. Carson remarked with a sad smile.

Mrs. Hughes was greatly affected by this comment, but tried to make light of it to cover her emotion. "I have a feeling you may consider it, but discard the notion entirely after a little thought. Still, I feel quite special that I could talk you into pondering retirement at all."

"You _should_ feel special," he said vehemently. "Mrs. Hughes, I..."

Mrs. Hughes sat frozen in her chair, pinned in place by Mr. Carson's eyes and words. _What does he mean to say? _She wanted to encourage him to continue, but speech seemed out of her power in that moment, so she waited, smiling warmly at him.

"Mrs. Hughes, I... I'm very tired. Shall we go up?"

Mrs. Hughes found her breath again and agreed with him. "Yes, of course. It's very late." She rose from her chair and left, wishing him good night on the way out.

Mr. Carson was left alone in his pantry again. This was not a moment for a letter. What he wanted to say to her - no, what he _would_ say to her - demanded to be said in person. He had not known until just a few moments ago that he was determined to tell her everything, to offer her his hand and heart. Whatever the outcome, Mr. Carson was no longer afraid. Mrs. Hughes seemed receptive to him, perhaps more than receptive, but he was certain that even if she refused him, he would not lose her friendship. _For better or worse_, she had said. Now his choice was very clear. Should he wait for her to retire or throw caution to the wind and declare himself as soon as possible? His heart did not want to wait. If he had listened only to that part of himself, he would have gone to her in her room that very moment and begged her to be his. Fortunately, he knew that she would probably think he had lost his mind if he followed that impulse, and decided against such an improper and unspeakably disrespectful course of action. If he did feel he must speak as soon as possible, he could wait until tomorrow, when he could find time alone with her. When the immediate impulse to follow her upstairs passed, he began to think it would be better to wait a little, to be sure he chose just the right moment.

#####

Mrs. Hughes told Lady Grantham the next morning of her plans to retire and, as Mr. Carson had assured her, she was immediately offered a cottage on the estate. Once this had been done, and the announcement made to the staff, Mr. Carson went to the countess with his recommendation of Mrs. Bute as a candidate for the position Mrs. Hughes would be vacating. Lady Grantham was thrilled with the suggestion and after consulting with Lord Grantham, she immediately wrote to Mrs. Bute to invite her to Downton. It would mean finding a new housekeeper for Grantham House for next Season, but there would be plenty of time for that. Selecting a woman for that job would not be as difficult as finding a new housekeeper for Downton Abbey.

"It's been a whirlwind of a day!" Mrs. Hughes mused, sitting down with her glass of sherry.

"It certainly has," Mr. Carson agreed. "How are you? Happy?"

She smiled brightly. "I am, Mr. Carson. You were absolutely right about the family's reaction and I'm glad. And thankful."

"Now you've only to organize your new cottage and train Mrs. Bute."

"_Only_, Mr. Carson? Those are both quite formidable tasks, although I don't think either of them will be disagreeable. Merely a lot of work."

"Well, be sure to ask me if there is anything I can do to help," Mr. Carson told her. "And remember that once Mrs. Bute has been here for a short time, she may actually lighten your load."

"That's true." Mrs. Hughes looked thoughtful. "I hadn't thought of that." She looked up from her sherry at Mr. Carson. "Mr. Carson, it will be a little while before I'm gone, but I want you to know how much your friendship means to me, and that I have especially appreciated your kindness this summer."

"Have I never been kind before this summer?" Mr. Carson's attempt at a jest fell flat.

"Of course you have," she told him. "But something has been different about this summer. We speak to each other differently than we used to."

He nodded. "Yes, you're right. Things _have_ been different. I am glad it makes you happy, Mrs. Hughes, if I understand you correctly."

She smiled fondly. "Yes, very happy."

"It makes me happy, too. It made me nervous at first - you know how I hate change - but no longer."

"No?" She scrutinized his face curiously.

He shook his head. "No."

_To be continued..._

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	25. Mrs Bute Arrives

Mrs. Bute arrived within the week. She had been between positions when she received Lady Grantham's letter. She sent a telegram to accept the offer, and then telephoned Mr. Carson to tell him what train she would arrive on. He had planned to order the car to pick her up, but both of them were in use by the family when her train was due to arrive.

"I suppose I'll walk to the station and meet her," Mr. Carson told Mrs. Hughes when he discovered this little problem. "I don't really have time, but I don't think we should leave her to manage her luggage and find her way to Downton all alone."

"Send James, then," Mrs. Hughes suggested. "He can carry her bags and show her the way."

"I had hoped to give her a slightly better welcome than that, but I suppose it can't be helped," he remarked, dissatisfied.

"Why don't I go with James?" Mrs. Hughes asked. "I can spare the time today, and I could use a walk. We can let him bring the bags ahead while I acquaint Mrs. Bute with a few main places in the village and then bring her here."

Mr. Carson smiled gratefully. "That would be excellent. Just show her the church and the post office and the like?"

"Yes, exactly," she assented. "And perhaps the hospital. But I'm sure she'll be tired, so the full tour can wait until she's settled in."

"You are a lifesaver, Mrs. Hughes. Now I must go. Let me know when you've returned with Mrs. Bute." He hurried out of her sitting room.

#####

A few hours later Mrs. Hughes and James were on the platform, waiting for the train due in a few minutes. "I don't expect she will have a great deal of luggage, James. When you get back to the house, Eliza or Catherine can take it up to her room; they both know which one is hers and will be expecting you."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," James agreed.

"I'll show Mrs. Bute a few things in the village and we'll be back a bit later. If you see Mr. Carson you may tell him that she has arrived safely and I will take care of the rest."

The footman nodded. They heard the sound of the train approaching and before long Mrs. Bute had stepped out of a third-class compartment. Mrs. Hughes and James approached her.

"Welcome to Downton, Mrs. Bute," Mrs. Hughes said with a friendly smile. James nodded a greeting to her as he took charge of her two bags and headed out of the station.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

"We had planned to send a car for you, but both of them are spoken for at the moment, so I'm afraid we'll have to walk."

"I don't mind a walk," Mrs. Bute replied. "I would like to stretch my legs."

"I can show you a few of the primary places in the village if you are not too tired," Mrs. Hughes suggested. "Otherwise we can go directly to the house."

"Oh, I should like to see a little of the village. I'm really not very tired."

"Excellent," Mrs. Hughes said. "I'll show you the church first."

"How is everything at the house?" Mrs. Bute asked as they walked.

"Very well."

"And Mr. Carson? How is he?" Mrs. Bute wanted to know.

"Mr. Carson is very well," Mrs. Hughes assured her. "Quite well." The two women made their way around the village, Mrs. Hughes pointing out a few principal points of interest. The church, the post office, and the hospital were the main buildings in the village, but she also pointed out a few other things as they passed by.

"That shop there is where Mr. Carson has his shoes repaired," she noted.

"I shouldn't think I will find much occasion to go in there," Mrs. Bute commented.

"Perhaps you won't," Mrs. Hughes agreed. "Normally one of the hall boys would take care of such an errand, but if I happen to be making a trip into the village when his shoes are ready, it's easy enough for me to stop in and pick them up. It's not something you would be required to do as housekeeper." When Mrs. Bute detected a faint flush that had risen to her companion's cheeks, she was relieved. She had never believed that Mrs. Patmore had lied to her about the Downton housekeeper's regard for Mr. Carson, but she had always worried that there might have been some misunderstanding, and that she had done wrong by interfering. Now, however, Mrs. Bute understood that Mrs. Patmore had been correct. There was most certainly something afoot if Mrs. Hughes troubled herself to take care of one of Mr. Carson's personal errands and then blushed at the mention of it. This one exchange was not enough for Mrs. Bute to feel certain that the woman was in love, but it seemed likely that she was, or something near it.

Mrs. Bute did not say much as they completed the circuit of the small village and then made their way toward Downton Abbey. She already felt that she could be comfortable and happy here, and she had not yet seen the house. She was, of course, already acquainted with the family and some of the staff, though she knew she would soon be learning the names of a small army of housemaids, kitchen maids, and hall boys.

When the two women crested the hill that brought the house into view, Mrs. Bute gasped. Mrs. Hughes smiled. "It is quite magnificent. I'm used to it, of course, but I do still appreciate the beauty of the house."

"It _is_ magnificent," Mrs. Bute breathed.

Mrs. Hughes couldn't help laughing a little. "Your room in the attic isn't quite as magnificent, though it's nice enough."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be fine," she answered.

"You'll be staying in a smaller housemaid's room for now, though you won't have to share, but once I've moved out, you will be able to take the housekeeper's room, which is the largest and nicest of the female servants' bedrooms."

Mrs. Bute smiled. "Excellent."

"I'm glad we're going to have you with us, Mrs. Bute," Mrs. Hughes said. "I'm afraid Mr. Carson may have some difficulty adjusting to this change after twenty years in the same routine, but it will do him good to be working with someone he already knows."

"I'm glad if I can help."

"I'm sure you can," Mrs. Hughes assured her. "Mr. Carson has been in very good spirits, which I take as a good sign. He is no friend of change, and I suspect if we were bringing him a stranger to replace me, he would live in dread of the day I left."

"I suspect he dreads it at least a little anyway," Mrs. Bute said without thinking.

"What makes you say that?" Mrs. Hughes spoke a little more sharply than she had intended.

"I only meant that you and Mr. Carson must be good friends after so many years of working together. Surely he'll miss you, regardless of who takes your place."

"Oh, I don't know," Mrs. Hughes said evasively. "He's promised to take tea with me on some of his half days, so we'll not be strangers."

"But certainly you will miss him after being used to spending all day, every day together," Mrs. Bute persisted.

"And if I did, what have you to say about it, Mrs. Bute?" Mrs. Hughes challenged stringently.

"I apologize, Mrs. Hughes," Mrs. Bute replied. "I had no right to question you in that impertinent manner." She could perceive the sternness in the older woman now. She knew from the butler's and cook's accounts that a severe edge accompanied a generous nature, but this was her first encounter with the sharp side of Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Bute could understand why all respected her and why those who knew her little even feared her.

Mrs. Hughes relaxed. "And I am sorry I spoke harshly. I must remember I'm not giving a telling-off to one of my housemaids. We'll say no more about it."

_What a very interesting woman - made of kindness and steel and fire,_ Mrs. Bute marveled. _There might be no more perfect match for Mr. Carson in all the world._

#####

If Mrs. Bute had arrived at Downton on the next train, Mrs. Hughes and James would also have witnessed the return of Miss Baxter. She was back a little sooner than expected and had not sent a letter or telephoned, so her appearance in the servants' hall that afternoon was a surprise to everyone. To Mrs. Hughes it was a great relief. Lady Grantham would begin interviewing candidates for Madge's replacement soon, and with Miss Baxter back at Downton, she could really spend her time training Mrs. Bute properly. The countess considered this a priority as well and had sent word to Mrs. Hughes that she was relieved of the duty of dressing Lady Edith's hair. Mrs. Hughes did notice that Miss Baxter did not look well when she first appeared at the back door. Her complexion looked slightly gray, there were shadows under her eyes, and she seemed nervous and rattled, though she assured everyone that her sister was well. Within a day or two Miss Baxter was once again herself, however, and Mrs. Hughes wondered if the lady's maid and her sister were not on good terms. It must have been a difficult time for her, wherever she had been and whatever she had done, for the difference in her appearance from the day she arrived to the next was striking.

#####

Mrs. Bute was welcomed cordially by the staff she already knew, and began to acquaint herself with the rest. Some of the servants wondered how the two housekeepers would get on, a few laying odds that there would be a histrionic falling out within a few days, but all speculation was laid to rest very shortly. Mrs. Hughes was a firm but patient teacher and Mrs. Bute a capable pupil, and they could be found a few times a week taking tea together in the housekeeper's sitting room, occasionally joined by Mr. Carson or Mrs. Patmore.

Lord and Lady Grantham were also pleased with Mrs. Bute's progress, and soon she and Mrs. Hughes were alternating taking care of the various housekeeper's duties at Downton Abbey. Mrs. Hughes used the extra free time to set up her home. Knowing that the young man was fond of Mrs. Hughes, Lord Grantham and Lady Mary had left the selection up to Tom Branson, and he had chosen a modernized cottage near the house. Mrs. Hughes thought it was rather too large at first, but she reminded herself that just about any home might seem large after a life lived in service, having only a single room to oneself, and even then sometimes shared with another person. The cottage had some furnishings, and Lady Grantham helped her find the rest of what she would need from the attics at the big house. Mrs. Hughes moved everything but the necessities from her bedroom and her sitting room to the cottage and began to decorate her new home. She was very pleased with how it was taking shape. Her biggest task had been getting the extra furniture moved in and, now, making curtains for every single window. It was good that Mrs. Bute was settling in so well. Otherwise Mrs. Hughes might not have finished everything in time.

Mrs. Hughes was so busy that she did not notice she was being closely watched. Mr. Carson was looking for the right moment to make his feelings and intentions clear to her, but she was always so busy with preparations for her move, or occupied with Mrs. Bute, that he did not want to disturb her. The only benefit to her being so busy and preoccupied was that he could observe her without her noticing. Sometimes when it was quiet downstairs, he stood in the corridor outside her open sitting room door and followed her movements with his eyes. Her fingers were nimble with a needle and she seemed to make good progress on the curtains, though she did occasionally make little sounds of frustration when she pricked her finger or when a bit of her skirt was somehow caught up in her stitches and she had to start again. Mr. Carson watched her hands, but he watched her face as well. It was so familiar to him, and yet he never bored of it. Occasionally, he let his eyes drift down to her ankles, feeling ridiculous but unable to resist a quick look. They were always covered now with dark stockings, so there was not much to see, but he was still reminded of their day together by the sea. Even now he blushed when he thought of his blundering comment, but he smiled as well. She was beautiful from her head to her toes.

What Mr. Carson didn't know was that _he_ was being observed. While he was absorbed in the task of staring silently at Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore caught sight of him looking through the open sitting room door. The first time, she thought he must have lost track of what he was doing and stopped for a moment to think about it, but then _she_ lost track of how many times she had seen him doing the same thing and was almost shocked by how long he stood there. If she hadn't known the real reason for Mr. Carson's behavior, this strange summer might have convinced her that he was out of his mind.

Mrs. Patmore was a woman of action. As she punched and kneaded some dough, she thought over all she had seen and made a decision about what she would do about it. If Mr. Carson could stand in the corridor for minutes on end, keeping quiet as he stared at Mrs. Hughes, he might not be trusted to ever address her as he should. Mrs. Patmore was well enough acquainted with him to know it was no good to openly chivvy him about it. She simply needed to find ways of hurrying things along, of placing the two of them in situations conducive to romantic conversation. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes often drank wine together in the evening, but that had clearly yielded nothing, even though Mrs. Patmore knew for a fact that since his return from London, they had met faithfully in his pantry every night but one. No, she would have to do better than that, and an idea was already forming in her mind for her first attempt.

_To be continued..._

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	26. Plotting

"Mrs. Patmore, what are you doing here?" Mrs. Bute wondered when she found the cook in the corridor. "I thought you'd gone with Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes for a tour of her new cottage."

"They've gone without me. An emergency came up here and I wasn't able to join them," Mrs. Patmore told her.

"An emergency?" Mrs. Bute was concerned. "Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly all right."

"What a shame that you'll miss out on seeing Mrs. Hughes's cottage."

Mrs. Patmore sighed and rolled her eyes. "You really weren't kidding when you said you weren't a plotter!"

"What do you mean?"

Mrs. Patmore indicated that they should go into the empty kitchen; Mrs. Bute followed her. "If you _were_ a plotter you would have spotted a mile off that I never intended to go with them."

"Oh, I see," Mrs. Bute remarked. "You want them to be alone together."

"Not just alone together, but alone together in her cottage, which could be _their_ cottage if he plays his cards right."

"It won't be hard for him to play his cards right, will it?"

Mrs. Patmore shook her head, impatient with her absent friend. "One question," she muttered. "He just has to ask her one bloody question and the whole matter will be settled."

"You're quite certain, aren't you?"

"Have you _seen_ them together lately?" Mrs. Patmore scoffed. "If he asks, she_ will_ say yes. The only uncertainty will be how soon they marry."

"Do you think he'll ask today?"

"That's the big question. It's too bad it's up to the man to do the asking. Glaciers are fast compared to Mr. Carson when it comes to certain matters. That's why he needs my help. If this doesn't work, I might have to resort to more convoluted plotting."

Mrs. Bute chuckled. "I'll leave you to mastermind your next attempt, Mrs. Patmore."

#####

"It's a very fine day," Mr. Carson commented as he walked with Mrs. Hughes.

"Yes, I'm glad we chose today for this little outing."

"Or, rather, Mrs. Patmore chose it. It's a shame she couldn't join us." He was not actually sorry that the cook had been unable to come with them, but it seemed the right thing to say.

Mrs. Hughes had a strong suspicion that Mrs. Patmore had engineered this whole outing for the express purpose of sending her away from the house, alone with Mr. Carson, but she didn't mind. She would take any excuse she could find to be alone with him. "Yes, a shame," she agreed. "But she'll visit often, I'm sure. There will be many other opportunities for her to see it." They rounded a bend in the path. "There it is." Mrs. Hughes pointed out a snug little cottage with a nice garden off to the side. She unlocked the front door and they went inside.

"This is the parlor. It's quite a nice size, and her ladyship let me take that lovely settee."

Mr. Carson crossed the room to the piece of furniture in question and smiled. "I remember this settee. Years ago it was in the drawing room, but it was placed too near the window and the upholstery faded dreadfully."

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "It's certainly faded, but otherwise it is in good condition and very comfortable. Perhaps I'll make a cover for it."

"And you won't put it right by your window."

She chuckled. "Certainly not. I'm not sure I like where it's placed now, though. I think I may move it closer to the fireplace. But come see the kitchen next."

Mr. Carson followed her into the small, but cozy kitchen. "Your electric toaster is here already?" he asked, smiling. "I would have thought that would be one of the last things you would take with you."

"Very amusing, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes remarked with a smile. "But I don't need it as long as I'm at the house. Mrs. Patmore still gives us toast every morning for breakfast. But once I'm living here I will be glad I bought it. It's so much easier to use the toaster than to make toast the old way."

Mr. Carson looked around the kitchen, taking in the furnishings and the curtains she had finished and hung in the windows. "What else can you show me?" he asked. Mrs. Hughes led him back into the parlor, where he noticed her knickknacks and keepsakes all over the place. She was really making this house into a home.

"There isn't much else to see," she told him. "I suppose I could show you the bathroom. It's quite modern."

"Lead on," he replied.

Mrs. Hughes led him up the stairs and opened the door to a tiny bathroom. "Not very large, but it is all I need." After they had peered through the door for a few moments, Mrs. Hughes closed it again. She gestured to three other doors upstairs. "The rest are just a closet and two bedrooms." She led the way back downstairs. "I feel rather decadent having two bedrooms, but it means I can have my sister or my nieces to visit anytime I like."

"That's excellent," Mr. Carson asserted. "I should like to meet your sister." He returned to the settee in the parlor. "Where is it you were thinking of moving this? Closer to the fireplace?" he asked.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "Yes, about there," she pointed. "But I'll have to ask James and Mr. Molesley, or a couple of the hall boys, to come and move it. I'm afraid it's too heavy for me to move myself."

"What if I helped you? I don't think it's terribly heavy for two people."

"You may be right." Mrs. Hughes crossed the room to stand on the other end of the settee. "It doesn't need to be moved very far." Between the two of them they managed to shift it a short distance until it stood just where she wanted it. "Perfect!"

"Why don't you try it out?" Mr. Carson suggested.

Mrs. Hughes took a seat and sighed contentedly, then looked up at him. "You, too," she said, patting the seat next to her. The settee was only wide enough for two people, so when he sat, they were not very far apart. Mrs. Hughes was surveying her handiwork all around the room, but Mr. Carson couldn't look at anything but her. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. When her eyes finally turned in his direction, she was surprised at how close he was. She couldn't think of anything to say.

"Hello," she murmured, still a little breathless.

"This is a lovely cottage, Mrs. Hughes," he told her. "I should love to live in a place like this."

"Oh?"

"Yes. In fact... I would very much like to live here with you, if you will have me."

Mrs. Hughes smiled brightly, her eyes shining. She was silent, however. She had a feeling Mr. Carson had more to say.

"It's been an unusual summer, hasn't it?"

"It has," she agreed.

"It's not every summer that I discover I'm in love."

"I should think not. You've never seemed a fickle man to me."

"I'm not," he asserted. "I will love you to the end of my days."

"Oh, my darling, I will love you forever," Mrs. Hughes confessed, embracing him with some force and clinging to him tightly, hands clasped behind his neck. Mr. Carson wound his arms around her waist and drew her closer.

"Will you marry me, my dearest love?" he murmured in her ear.

"Yes," she sighed. "Oh, yes."

"So many times I almost told you."

"So did I," she admitted. "I knew you wouldn't like the woman to speak first, but I almost did it anyway. Nearly every day."

Mr. Carson chuckled. "As long as you had left the marriage proposal to me, I don't think I would have minded."

Mrs. Hughes laughed and they both relaxed until they sat clasped loosely together, their foreheads touching.

"I'm glad you're going to come live with me," she told him.

"I am, too." Mr. Carson pulled his head back from hers so he could really look in her eyes. Then he leaned in and softly kissed the corner of her mouth before pressing his lips to hers, pulling her firmly against him once again. Mr. Carson had kissed a woman before, and Mrs. Hughes had kissed a man, but in so many other ways this was still a first kiss. He was her first love. She was his new beginning. Twenty-three years in, they each savored their first kiss of the twentieth century. And most importantly, it was the first of many kisses that they would surely share in the years to come. There had been a time for ambition and work, but this was the beginning of the time in their lives that would be devoted to loving one another.

_To be continued..._

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	27. Crinkles and Ankles

Mrs. Hughes locked the cottage door and turned back in the direction of Downton Abbey. Mr. Carson was waiting for her on the tiny front lawn, and when he heard her step on the flagstones, he turned and held out his hand to her. She took it, and they made their way to the place that would not much longer be called home.

"I'll tell his lordship when we get back to the house, Elsie. Then we can be married as soon as possible."

Mrs. Hughes slowed her pace. "I like the sound of the second part of that, Charles, but would you mind terribly waiting until tomorrow before speaking to his lordship?"

"Of course I'll wait, if you wish. But why?"

"I'd like to keep it our secret for the rest of the day," she explained. "I'd like to have you to myself tonight over sherry, and then tomorrow we'll tell the world. Or as much of the world as wants to know."

Mr. Carson chuckled. "I like that idea. Just our secret for the rest of the day."

"There is one possible hitch to my plan."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Mrs. Patmore."

"Hmmm."

"I think we both know that she purposefully sent us off to the cottage alone," Mrs. Hughes chuckled.

"I suspected, but I had no complaints about the arrangement."

"She will probably guess, Charles."

"Do you think she will keep it to herself?"

"I do, but I feel very little faith in her ability or desire to leave us alone about it."

"Well, Elsie, I suppose we shall have to do our best to make it to that evening sherry with our nerves intact."

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "I'd say we haven't much other choice."

The house came into view and they let their hands slide apart.

#####

Mrs. Bute made her way purposefully to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. The kitchen maids ignored her, but Mrs. Patmore took notice and approached.

"What is it?" she asked the housekeeper quietly.

"They've returned, Mrs. Patmore. I saw them come in just a minute ago."

"And? Don't keep me in suspense!"

"I could see it. I could tell. He finally asked the bloody question," Mrs. Bute whispered, smiling. "Now, I'd best get on. I'm due back in Mrs. Hughes's sitting room any second now." She dashed down the corridor.

"About bloody time," Mrs. Patmore muttered.

#####

Mr. Carson entered Mrs. Hughes's sitting room and set the sherry and glasses on the table. She was still seated at her desk, but turned when she heard him come in.

"They've all gone up?" she asked hopefully.

Mr. Carson nodded and closed the door. "Alone at last." He poured two glasses of sherry and handed one to Mrs. Hughes before sitting down. She moved her desk chair across the room so she could sit close to him.

"Did Mrs. Patmore give you any trouble today, Charles?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"Not really. I caught her watching me a few times, but she didn't say a word to me about it. And you?"

"About the same, although I noticed her deep in conversation with Mrs. Bute several times. You never told me those two were thick as thieves, Charles."

"I didn't notice that they were," he chuckled. "I was occupied with going very slowly mad over a beautiful woman I'd been forced to send away to Yorkshire."

Mrs. Hughes blushed and looked into her glass. "You're exaggerating again, Charles."

"About what?" Mr. Carson was confused.

She raised clear eyes to his. "I'm not beautiful," she told him plainly.

"What?" he replied. "How can you say that?"

"Because it's true, Charles," she asserted. "A tidy figure and perhaps a nice smile, but beautiful? No."

"A tidy figure and a nice smile?" Mr. Carson questioned her. "Is that really all you see when you look in the mirror."

"No, it's not, actually," she answered emphatically. "I also see gray hair and wrinkles that weren't there ten or twenty years ago. If I ever was beautiful, which I doubt, I certainly am not any longer."

Mr. Carson scoffed. "You were always beautiful. I didn't need to be in love with you to see that. I just had to have eyes."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Whatever you say, Charles."

Mr. Carson looked into her face for a moment before he stood up, took the glass from her hand, and set it down on the table. He held out his hand to her. She didn't know what he was doing, but she let him pull her from her chair. He led her to look in the mirror, standing behind her with a hand on her shoulder.

"You've told me what you see, Elsie," he said. "Now I'll tell you what _I_ see. But where to start..." Mr. Carson pointed at her nose. "Ah, you've a lovely nose."

Mrs. Hughes frowned. "Are you making fun, Charles?"

"And look at that wonderful expression. You frown, and your eyes are full of suspicion. No, Elsie, I am not making fun. I do like your nose. But your eyes are even lovelier, both when you are happy and when you are not. Don't you see?" he asked.

Her face relaxed a bit. "Well… they are blue," she began uncertainly.

Mr. Carson chuckled. "Yes, they are blue, and they are outlined by very fine black eyelashes. I could talk all day about those eyelashes. And these…" He pointed to the outside corner of one of her eyes.

"What, those wrinkles?"

"Those aren't wrinkles," he told her in a very dignified tone. "They are crinkles."

Mrs. Hughes had to laugh. "I think perhaps you really _are_ mad," she teased.

"Aha! See?" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Your eyes crinkle at the corners when you show your true smile. And you have it half right about your smile. You at least see it as an attractive feature, but it is certainly more than just 'nice.' Sometimes it's adorably cheeky, sometimes it's appealingly satisfied, and sometimes, best of all, it's radiantly happy. But it is _always_ beautiful."

Mrs. Hughes blushed at his effusive praise, and couldn't help smiling.

"You've some crinkles on your chin, too, when you smile," Mr. Carson pointed out. "I love your crinkles, all of them. And that's not all. You've got marvelous ears and an exquisite neck, among many other splendid parts. But those ankles…"

"My ankles!" she exclaimed. "What about them?"

"I've been thinking about your ankles ever since that day by the sea," Mr. Carson admitted. "I can't say why, but once I saw how pretty they were they haunted my dreams."

Mrs. Hughes made a skeptical face in the mirror.

"Well, perhaps 'haunted' is a slight exaggeration," he admitted. "But I was surprised how frequently they appeared in my dreams and daydreams."

She sighed in resignation, rolling her eyes, though she still smiled. "Very well, I have a pretty face and pretty ankles and pretty… crinkles. Can we sit down, please?"

Mr. Carson smiled. "Certainly," he agreed. "But while I have you here…" He turned Mrs. Hughes to face him and bent to kiss her. She melted into his embrace at once and they kissed for quite a while, breaking every so often for breath.

"I love you, Elsie," he told her, pulling her to him and resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I love you, Charles," she murmured into his shirt.

"Why don't we finish our drinks, love?"

"Yes, I think we should."

When they were seated again, they talked of wedding plans and what would now be _their_ cottage and telling Lord Grantham and how the family might react. Mrs. Hughes was happy that she could speak so openly of her love after many years of silence. Mr. Carson was amazed that he felt no fear, in spite of the fact that he was about to make several significant changes to his life in a fairly short time. It could only be because of her. He knew there was nothing they could not take on together, and he trusted her completely with his patched-up heart, now whole and healthy. She would never betray or abandon him, of that he was sure. When their glasses were empty they parted, she up the stairs to her room, and he to his pantry to put away the glasses and lock up for the night.

#####

Mrs. Hughes was not yet asleep when she heard something slide under her door. This time she got up at once and hurried to open her door, looking out into the darkened corridor. Mr. Carson was tiptoeing toward the stairs.

"Charles!" she whispered. He turned to her. "Where are your shoes?"

He came back toward her, shushing her with a finger held to his lips. "They're at the bottom of the stairs. It's quieter this way."

She smiled. "Why have you written me a letter? There's nothing you need apologize for."

Mr. Carson smiled back. "Just read it. You'll see." He turned to go, but Mrs. Hughes grasped his hand.

"One more kiss, my darling," she pleaded.

He looked around them and, once he had ascertained that no one was stirring, he pulled her to him and kissed her in one fluid motion. It was impossible not to notice how it felt to hold her through only the fabric of her long nightdress, but it was still possible for him to pull away. Mr. Carson did so, regretfully but purposefully. "Good night," he whispered and disappeared down the stairs.

As he put his shoes back on, Mr. Carson noticed that his skin prickled still, as it had when she had first surprised him in the corridor. She had looked something like an angel in that voluminous white nightgown, with her hair plaited and hanging over her shoulder. She felt nothing like an angel, however, all soft, womanly curves, and those lips that warmed his mouth while setting the rest of him on fire. Mr. Carson wondered how long it would be before he could leave his post, or if he might be married before he handed the reins over to another man. He wasn't sure how busy Lord Grantham would be the next day, but it was imperative that he find a way to speak to him as soon as possible.

#####

Mrs. Hughes turned on her lamp and settled into bed to read Mr. Carson's letter. She had not been surprised to find him in the corridor since he had twice before slid an envelope under her bedroom door, but it _was_ unexpected to see him there without his shoes on. He had thought it very important to put the three different letters into her possession as early as possible, to the point that he risked entering the forbidden women's quarters, but he was sensible enough to take precautions against making noise that could wake someone up. Still, Mrs. Hughes had to chuckle. A year or even six months ago she would never have expected to be treated to such a sight. She opened the envelope and read.

_My darling Elsie,_

_How is it that I have written you hundreds of letters over the course of our acquaintance, but not a single one of them has been a love letter? Some of the letters I wrote you this summer were almost love letters, but I was not ready to call them that. They were letters of affection, I think, rather than merely friendship, but I believe it's time for you to receive a proper love letter from me. I only hope you'll forgive the rather unconventional mode of delivery._

_I love you. I don't think I will ever tire of telling you so. I would spend every day doing nothing but saying, "I love you," but if I did that I would only be telling you and never showing you. I love you, but I also want to kiss you, to hold your hand, to make tea for you, to care for you when you are ill, to read to you as we sit in front of the fire, and a thousand other things. Once we are married, I plan to do just that, and anything else you would like. Until then, I will do as much as I can. It may not be much, but I hope you will know that you are cherished and loved, and that you are wonderful._

_I wonder what you will think when I tell you that it was a letter that brought me to this place, that brought me to you. Do you remember the note you gave me to read when I returned to London after bringing Isis to Downton? You asked me not to read it until I reached London, and I meant my promise when I made it, but before I was far from home, I had talked myself into opening it anyway. That letter, probably the shortest you've ever written to me, impelled me at last to have done with my foolish denial and let myself love you. I was frightened when I struggled to forswear you, but at some point after I resigned that battle, I stopped being afraid. You cannot imagine, dear one, how much I feared you, or so I thought. What I truly feared was myself, and what might happen if I liberated my heart. I read your note in what I would then have called a moment of weakness and I was overwhelmed. I was no match for love, but I knew I was safe in your hands. If you had not loved me, too, I know you would have broken my heart as gently as you could, and you still would have stood my friend. But I have been blessed beyond what I deserve, in discovering that you love me just as I love you._

_I have loved before, but never a woman so strong and true as you. There could be no other so strong and true, nor one so beautiful, for there is only one of you in this world. How lucky for me that I am the man you have chosen to be your husband._

_Sleep well, my love, and dream of me. I will see you in the morning. We will meet in an ordinary place to fulfill mundane duties, but we will know that what we have found in each other's hearts is nothing short of extraordinary._

_Ever yours,_

_Charles_

To be continued...

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	28. The Drama of Surprise

"Retire!" Lord Grantham's eyes widened and he was silent for a few moments. "You've surprised me, Carson. Are you sure everything is all right? Are you well?"

"Perfectly, milord."

"And right after Mrs. Hughes has given us her notice, too! I hope it isn't catching. Shall I tell her ladyship to expect Mrs. Patmore's resignation soon?" the earl joked.

Mr. Carson made no reply.

"You'll have a cottage, of course," Lord Grantham assured him. "You and Mrs. Hughes are good friends, I should think. Perhaps you would like to take one of the cottages near hers so you can visit regularly. There are several available in that area that have recently been modernized. I'll ask Tom to show you."

"That won't be necessary, milord," Mr. Carson told him. "I do not require a cottage."

"Do you mean to go elsewhere, Carson?" The earl was rather shocked. "I assumed you'd stay here when you retired."

"What I mean, milord, is that Mrs. Hughes and I plan to be married, and we will live together in the cottage she's already furnished and decorated."

"Steady on, Carson!" Lord Grantham exclaimed. "This is two shocks in one day. Are there any more surprises I need to know about?"

Mr. Carson couldn't suppress a little smile. "No, milord," he assured his employer. "Only those two."

"Well, congratulations, Carson. I wish you both the best."

"Thank you, milord."

"I think this news requires a talk with her ladyship," Lord Grantham commented. "Be warned, Carson, that Baxter will likely know all within an hour of our conversation. You and Mrs. Hughes had best make up your battle plan."

Mr. Carson was perturbed. "Thank you for the warning. I believe your lordship is correct."

"Be off with you, then," the earl commanded, amused. "Go and find your bride."

"Thank you, milord, I will."

After a hurried conference and several kisses in her sitting room, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes decided to make their announcement at lunch. Miss Baxter might know their secret before then, but it wasn't a foregone conclusion that she would immediately spread the news. And if she did choose to make it everyone's business, there wasn't much to be done about it. It was only a few hours until lunch, and it was hardly the end of the world if half the house had heard the news before they announced it.

Fortunately, Miss Baxter chose to stay silent and Mr. Carson was able to shock and surprise the staff all at once when he announced his impending retirement and marriage. Mrs. Hughes wondered if Mr. Carson would miss making these impressive pronouncements from the head of the table, the staff all held in thrall by his authoritative manner and voice. He would have no authority over her when they were married, in spite of the marriage vows she would recite, but Mrs. Hughes was still mesmerized by that voice of his and he might find that enough compensation for this loss of a stage for his performances. She had been only momentarily surprised when she had first learned that he had performed for an audience in younger days. Mr. Carson had been a song and dance man, making audiences laugh and tap their feet, but he also had an undeniable theatrical presence and admirable dramatic timing that helped him perform his role as butler flawlessly. Mrs. Hughes wondered how that would translate into the quiet and privacy of retirement, when she was his only audience. She gleefully anticipated observing the transition. She had a feeling it would be terrific fun.

#####

After years of allowing Lady Grantham to be deceived by Thomas Barrow, Lord Grantham decided that he must, at last, acquaint her with the man's true character: his theft, his scheming, his impudence, his indolence. He would have happily allowed her to continue in ignorance rather than make this uncomfortable revelation, but making Mr. Barrow butler of Downton Abbey was a line he would not cross. If the under butler had been a man of good character, there would be no question of his being the perfect candidate to take over for Mr. Carson when he retired, but Lord Grantham could not stomach it. On top of the thorny conversation with his wife, it would be troublesome to bring in a man from outside who would have to learn the ways of the house, but it could not be helped. Mr. Barrow would receive a reference from Mr. Carson or the new butler should he choose to leave, which seemed likely if he were passed over, and he could pursue his ambition elsewhere.

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes worked together to write an advertisement for a new butler, which was speedily approved by Lord Grantham and sent out to a variety of magazines for publication. Within just a few days, responses began to pour in. With so many great families in decline and great houses like Downton Abbey no longer being kept as private homes with domestic staff, there were many qualified applicants for the position.

#####

"Are you free for a few minutes, Mrs. Hughes?" Mr. Carson asked, standing at the door of her sitting room.

Mrs. Hughes looked up from her work and smiled. "Of course. What is it?"

Mr. Carson entered and closed the door behind him before coming to stand in front of her. "I have some news. Good news."

"I'm glad to hear it. You can sit down if you like, Charles." She gestured to a chair.

Mr. Carson remained standing and continued. "His lordship tells me that there are enough suitable candidates for my position that he feels certain we can have a man in place in a fortnight or less. I'll spend another two weeks training him and at that time I will leave service for good. That means we can be married in a month."

Mrs. Hughes rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around Mr. Carson. "Wonderful," she sighed.

He held her in his arms and spoke softly in her ear. "You'll only be on your own in our cottage for a few weeks. Shall we pay Mr. Travis a visit tomorrow?"

Mrs. Hughes smiled mischievously. "Well, I'm not sure," she answered.

Mr. Carson pulled back to look at her. "What do you mean? Why not?"

"Suppose I decide I like living alone and I change my mind about having you around?" she teased.

He relaxed, laughing and pulling her close again. "I'm afraid it's too late for that, love. You've already accepted my proposal. You're stuck with me now."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "I suppose it can't be helped, then," she lamented. "Well, I've put up with you for this long, I might as well marry you and reap some of the benefits of marriage."

"I'm glad you think there will be benefits to being my wife," Mr. Carson told her seriously.

"I _know_ there will be. I can hold your hand anytime I like, for one thing."

"You're very playful today, my dear."

"Am I? Well, I've just had some very good news. When shall we see Mr. Travis?"

"We've an appointment tomorrow afternoon, if you can spare the time."

"If I can spare the time!" she scoffed merrily. "I'd go with you even if I couldn't spare the time. I have a feeling her ladyship wouldn't sack me for it. Now be off with you. I've work to do."

Mr. Carson only laughed as he opened the door and left the room.

Mrs. Hughes sat back down at her desk and returned to her work, smiling and humming. In spite of all the excitement, she felt focused on what she was doing. And though she was retiring in just two weeks, Mrs. Hughes felt younger than she had in years. She was happy, and she was about to be even happier. She could only marvel at the series of events that had led her to this place. Where had it started? Why had it finally prospered? Mrs. Hughes wasn't sure when Mr. Carson had started loving her, but she found herself less curious about that than about what had brought them at long last out of their comfortable state of something a little more than friendship but not quite romance. It had started on that day by the sea, but what madness had possessed her to offer him her hand and what madness had made him take it? She didn't know how soon, but she planned to bring it up with Mr. Carson someday. Even if neither could explain what came over them, it was bound to be an interesting conversation.

_To be continued..._

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	29. Departure

On Mrs. Hughes's last day working, there were two butlers and two housekeepers at Downton Abbey. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes presided over every meal and Mrs. Bute and Mr. Wendover, who had just arrived, sat lower at the table. Mrs. Bute was confident that she was ready to take charge of the house, but she couldn't help feeling a little nervous. She certainly did not envy Mr. Wendover, however, though he looked calm enough, eating his toast across the table from her. He had only arrived at the house late yesterday afternoon, but he knew as well as she how difficult it would be for the pair of them to follow Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Bute at least had the benefit of having worked for the Crawleys before and of receiving more than a mere fortnight's training. The new butler would certainly have a baptism by fire. Mrs. Bute was glad, for the new man's sake, that Mr. Carson would be close at hand and was willing to spend an hour or two a day at the big house if he were needed in the first few weeks of retirement.

Mrs. Bute wouldn't have imagined at the beginning of the Season that she would be housekeeper of Downton Abbey before the year was out, and yet here she was. She remembered how she had worried that she was interfering inappropriately in Mr. Carson's life when she agreed to help Mrs. Patmore send him off to Yorkshire with Isis, but now that she had come to know Mrs. Hughes better, she perceived that their coming together was likely inevitable. She and Mrs. Patmore might have prodded Mr. Carson along a little faster than he would have moved on his own, but it was clear enough to Mrs. Bute that their mutual affection was not the work of a few months. They must have loved each other for a very long time. Mrs. Bute would admit feeling a little envious. She glanced again at Mr. Wendover and laughed at herself for doing so. Just because one butler and housekeeper planned to be married didn't mean everyone else would marry in equally tidy pairs. Besides that, this Mr. Wendover seemed far too serious. She thought they would get on well, but she couldn't see herself falling in love with him or anyone else. Mrs. Bute was forty years old and at the top of her profession. She had no plans to be anywhere other than where she was for a long time to come.

#####

Mrs. Hughes left Downton Abbey after breakfast the next morning. Mr. Carson insisted on accompanying her to her cottage so she did not have to carry her own bag. Mr. Barrow was entrusted with breakfast service and Mr. Wendover was left in Mrs. Bute's charge, with instructions from Mr. Carson that she acquaint him with some of their shared duties. If he had merely meant to walk Mrs. Hughes home and return immediately, he could have been back in less than a half hour, but Mr. Carson had accepted her invitation to tea. He would be her very first guest.

Mrs. Hughes turned the key in the lock and Mr. Carson followed her inside.

"Shall I take this upstairs?" he asked, indicating the bag he carried.

"Yes," she agreed. "I'll get the tea started and bring it out to the parlor." Mrs. Hughes went to the kitchen and put her kettle on to boil, then started taking out her tea things, and was surprised when Mr. Carson appeared in the kitchen a minute later. "I told you I'd bring tea out to the parlor, Charles," she reminded him.

"I don't want to sit alone in the parlor when I could be in here with you," he told her, coming up behind her and kissing her cheek.

"Just for a few minutes."

"A few minutes too many." He kissed her neck. "I'll miss you, Elsie."

Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to point out that she would not be far, and that he shouldn't talk nonsense, but instead she said, "I'll miss you, too, Charles. Silly, when we'll barely be a ten-minute walk apart."

"Not silly," Mr. Carson contended. "For the last twenty years we've been in the same house all day, every day."

"Except during the Season," she reminded him. "Perhaps we should pretend I've gone off to Grantham House."

"I'll have to write you letters, then," he told her.

Mrs. Hughes turned to face him and slipped her arms under his coat. "That sounds nice," she said softly.

"Will you write me back?"

"Of course," she answered. "What else have I to do?"

Mr. Carson smiled. "I'm sure you will have plenty to do. But write me anyway?"

Mrs. Hughes smiled back. "Of course I will. Now kiss me."

"I thought you'd never ask." Mr. Carson took her face gently between his hands and bent down to touch his lips to hers. At first they were both still, but then the kiss deepened, and Mrs. Hughes took her arms out from under his coat to caress his chest. He let his hands fall from her face to rest on her waist and pulled her gradually closer to him. The kettle began to whistle and they pulled apart.

"It's time for me to fix our tea, Charles."

"Must you?"

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"I suppose so."

"Don't forget we'll be having tea in the parlor on that charming little settee."

Mr. Carson's eyes brightened. "You're right. That charming _little_ settee."

Mrs. Hughes put everything on a tea tray and was about to pick it up when Mr. Carson swooped in and took it from her. She followed him to the parlor, where they each fixed a cup of tea and then sat down close together.

"This is nice, Elsie."

"Mmhmm," she agreed. "I look forward to many more times taking tea sitting close to you on this little settee."

"I'm glad the Crawleys left it too near the window and had to get rid of it. It's the perfect size for us."

"I have a confession, Charles."

He raised his eyebrows and his eyes twinkled. "Do you?"

"When I looked at all of the old furniture with her ladyship, I chose this settee on purpose for that very reason."

Mr. Carson looked confused. "But that was before-"

"I hoped you might come live with me someday," she admitted. "I liked the idea of sitting here with you, all cozy with our tea or under a blanket on a cold day."

He smiled and kissed her cheek. "Are there any other things you did in anticipation of my living here?"

"A few things," she answered evasively.

"Such as…?" Mr. Carson prodded.

"I made curtains I thought you would like."

"And you chose well. They're very nice, Elsie. Anything else?"

Mrs. Hughes blushed. "Well, I asked Mr. Branson to exchange the bathtub that was here with a larger one from a nearby cottage. You're very tall and I thought it might be more comfortable."

Mr. Carson's eyebrows rose. "I hope that's not the reason you gave him."

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "Although I think he may have suspected I was lying when I told him I was worried my niece's children might not fit in the tub all at once, and I thought they would visit soon."

He laughed. "But he didn't say anything?"

"No, he just tried to hide his smile and did as I asked."

"What else did you do for me, Elsie?"

"Oh, this and that," she answered vaguely. "I can't remember every single thing."

Mr. Carson took her tea from her hands and set it down beside his. "You're hiding something, Elsie," he murmured, leaning close to her.

Mrs. Hughes was flustered now. "I can't tell you about it. You'd be embarrassed."

"Then we'll be embarrassed together, if the color of your cheeks is any indication of your mood," he told her mischievously.

"Fine," she agreed. "It's about the bed. That large bed you didn't want to talk about when we discussed retirement. Satisfied?"

Mr. Carson turned a bit pink as well, but was not deterred. "What about the bed?"

"Well, it's larger that what one medium-sized spinster needs."

"But just right for a medium-sized wife and her large-sized husband?" he wanted to know.

"I'm sure I won't know what to do with myself for the two weeks I'll be sleeping in it alone. I'll probably sleep right on the edge, as though I were still in my narrow bed at the Abbey."

"You were right, Elsie," Mr. Carson remarked gravely. "We should have avoided this topic."

"You started it," Mrs. Hughes pointed out.

"I have a feeling I will be getting very little sleep in my narrow bed at the Abbey for the next two weeks." He kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear. "Will you show it to me, Elsie?"

"You must be mad! After the conversation we've just been having? Absolutely not."

Mr. Carson frowned. "You don't really think I'd try to seduce you, do you?"

"I don't know what I think," she answered honestly. _Maybe I'm just afraid you wouldn't have to try very hard to succeed, _she thought.

"Well, I'm not going to try. Not until the day we're married."

"Then I can't think of any reason you need to see the bed now," she replied.

"It's not the bed I'm concerned with now," he commented. "I want to see the curtains."

Mrs. Hughes couldn't help laughing. "You'll see them in two weeks. I think you'll survive the suspense, Charles."

He sighed in defeat, but gathered her into his arms. "Very well. I suppose I should be getting back to the house now. Thank you for the tea."

"You're welcome, Charles," she mumbled into his chest. "You may visit anytime you like."

"I will. As often as I can." He pulled away from her and rose from his seat, but grasped her hand and drew her toward the door. Mrs. Hughes gladly followed.

"Goodbye, my dear," Mr. Carson murmured, kissing her hand.

"Until next time," she replied, smiling into his eyes and standing on tiptoe so he could kiss her once more.

Mr. Carson then nodded, squeezed her hand, and left the house. Mrs. Hughes stood in the doorway watching him until he was out of sight, before returning to her empty parlor. A part of her felt lonely, missing the man who had just left her. But she was also content to be standing in her own home, for the first time in her life. She cleared away the tea things and went upstairs to change her dress. Mrs. Hughes would keep her dark housekeeper's garb, but from now on it would reside in the very back of the wardrobe, or perhaps in the bottom drawer of her dresser. She felt light and merry, and now she would look it as well. Although she had planned to save it for another occasion, she chose to dress in the skirt and blouse that she had worn on the outing to the seaside. It reminded her of new beginnings, and today was certainly the start of something new and wonderful.

Once Mrs. Hughes had changed out of her dark dress, she unpacked the bag Mr. Carson had carried for her and left in her upstairs corridor. There wasn't much in it, but she felt that unpacking it would be the final step in making her retirement real. Her impending marriage would make her retirement complete. Mrs. Hughes was not entirely surprised to find a letter from Mr. Carson in her bag. She left her unpacking unfinished for the moment and sat down on the bed to read it immediately. Even that was a luxury she could not boast until today.

_My dear Elsie,_

_I can hardly believe this day has come. You will leave Downton Abbey, and everyone in the house will feel your loss, most especially me. It is only two weeks that we will live under separate roofs, I know, but I miss you already, though you do not leave until after breakfast._

_The more I think about it, the more I believe that you and I must have belonged to one another for much longer than I knew. I look forward to the day when I will put a band of gold around your finger in front of our friends, making you fully mine, and becoming fully yours. I also look forward to every day after that, when we will enjoy together everything that we have had for years, as well as this new and sacred belonging. How fortunate it is that calling you my dearest love does not oblige me to leave off calling you my dearest friend._

_I must conclude; it is almost time for breakfast. I will end by expressing my hope that you are as happy as I am. I love you, Queen of my heart._

_Ever Yours,_

_Charles_

#####

On his way back to the house, Mr. Carson noticed the letter in his pocket. She must have slipped it in there when she had her arms inside his coat. He was still a few minutes from the house, so he tore it open and read her words as he walked.

_My Dear Charles,_

_Many of the letters I wrote you this summer were love letters, but I would not have admitted that to a single soul but myself. Now, however, it is no secret that you hold my heart, and I will write you a true love letter, that you may have written proof of my feelings, as I have of yours._

_I have loved you for a long time, my dear, and have watched over you as best I could. You had no mother, no sister, no wife, to see that you took care of yourself. I did not always succeed at keeping you well, for I was not your mother, your sister, or your wife. A woman may do many things in support of a friend, but if she is to keep her love a secret from its object and from everyone else, there are lines she must not cross. I learned quite early where all of those lines were drawn, and for a long time I was cautious, even after I became aware that I loved you. In recent years I stopped being quite as cautious, and occasionally even intentionally crossed a line, though never for long. I was always careful to step right back into my proper place before I caused any harm. This summer, however, I crossed a line one lovely day by the sea, and I didn't step back to where I had come from. I could speculate all day on what made that day different from all of the days that came before it, but I am thankful for whatever madness led me to continue crossing lines in the days that followed and for whatever pushed you to follow me into this new season of our lives. I hoped that someday you might love me, but I never anticipated the intensity of feeling that would accompany those three special words when they were finally spoken. To feel my own mouth form the sounds and to hear you say them back to me is a wonder like none I have ever felt before. You must promise to say them to me every day, even when I vex you, which I know I will._

_I remember you told me that you felt sometimes like you were going mad during the time we were separated this Season. I now feel something similar, I believe, although we have been living in the same house. In the early days of loving you, I had all of the symptoms of new love, but with time I became more comfortable, as long as I knew you would be beside me always. After our visit to Westminster Abbey, however, I felt once again as though I had just discovered my feelings for you, and ever since that day I have been haunted by you. There are times when I am consumed with thoughts of you, and moments when I yearn for you and feel the world will end if I am forced to go another second without touching you or kissing you. I am smitten. I am delirious with passion and with tenderness. Quite simply, I am mad for you. Soon, however, this madness will take a new shape, for you will belong only to me. I love you._

_Ever yours,_

_Elsie_

To be continued...

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	30. Lady Mary

The sound of chairs scraping the floor caught Mr. Carson's attention and he hurried toward the servants hall, where he found Lady Mary. She heard his step in the corridor and turned.

"Ah, Carson, I was looking for you." She smiled. "Can I have a word?"

"Of course, milady. How can I help?"

Lady Mary looked around before speaking softly. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately? Is Mr. Wendover in the pantry?"

"No, he's upstairs, milady." Mr. Carson gestured for her to precede him to the pantry.

Lady Mary was the first to speak when the door was closed.

"How are you, Carson?" she wanted to know. "We haven't really spoken much about… everything that's happened."

Mr. Carson smiled slightly. "I'm very well, milady, though Mr. Wendover's training keeps me quite busy."

"Do you think he is up to the job?" Lady Mary asked.

"I do, milady," he assented. "He is very serious about the job and I think you will be pleased with his work once he has adjusted to Downton."

"It will take some getting used to for the family, too, having you and Mrs. Hughes both gone. At least we've got Mrs. Bute, who isn't a complete stranger."

"And very capable she is, though not quite like Mrs. Hughes."

Lady Mary hid a smile. "I suspect no one is quite like Mrs. Hughes to _you_, Carson."

Mr. Carson could not hide _his_ smile, nor could he think of what to say in response to Lady Mary's comment.

"I did wonder, when I first heard of it, what the... situation was between the two of you," she remarked.

"Milady?" He didn't quite understand.

"I thought you might have offered her your hand so she wouldn't have to be alone in retirement," Lady Mary admitted.

Mr. Carson frowned. "While I have heard of such things happening, it is certainly-"

"But it didn't take long for me to perceive that it was more than that." She looked at him seriously. "You're happy, Carson, and I can't tell you how glad that makes me. No one deserves it more than you."

He shook his head. "There is one person who deserves happiness more than I do," he told her. "But I'll not complain of having better than I deserve."

"The woman you love loves you. I don't think deserving comes into the picture. Love just _is_, and there's nothing we can do about it," Lady Mary said softly.

"Beautifully put, milady."

"Now, Carson, I've come to ask if there's any way I can help."

"Help? With what?"

Lady Mary laughed. "Well, I won't be serving wine at the dinner table, but I did think I might be able to lighten your load in other ways - help you get away from the house occasionally. This will be a long two weeks for you, I think."

"Yes," he agreed. "But I would rather spend as much time as I can training Mr. Wendover now, so I will be needed little after I am gone."

"Then I don't suppose there is much more I can do. But I do wish you all the luck in the world, Carson."

Mr. Carson was thoughtful. "There_ is _something you could do for me, milady."

Lady Mary looked at him expectantly. "Well? What is it?"

#####

Mrs. Hughes was very surprised to hear a knock on her door. Mr. Carson couldn't be away from the house at this time of day and she wasn't expecting any other visitors. She had just been arranging some books on a shelf, however, and was well able to make a cup of tea for anyone who came to see her. Nevertheless, she was quite astonished to find a smiling Lady Mary Crawley on her doorstep. She invited the young woman in and offered to make tea.

"Tea would be lovely, Mrs. Hughes."

"Shall I take your coat, milady?"

"I'll take care of my coat while you make tea." Lady Mary lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Don't worry, I won't tell Carson."

Mrs. Hughes laughed and went to the kitchen. Lady Mary hung her coat on the rack by the front door and followed her.

"I can bring tea to you in the parlor, milady. You'll be more comfortable there."

Lady Mary looked around the room and took a seat at the kitchen table. "It may surprise you to know that I don't mind sitting in the kitchen, Mrs. Hughes. It makes a nice change."

Mrs. Hughes was puzzled. "If you say so, milady." The kettle was on the stove and she began to pull out the tea things.

"I like the idea of seeing where Carson is going to live when he leaves us."

Mrs. Hughes colored faintly and smiled as she continued setting things on a tray. "I hope he'll be comfortable here."

"I'm sure he will as long as he's got you with him."

The water boiled and Mrs. Hughes served the tea at the kitchen table. She thought she ought to have felt awkward and uncomfortable serving tea to an earl's daughter in the kitchen of her humble cottage, but she felt neither of those things. Once she saw that everything was right, she sat down across from Lady Mary. It felt a little odd, but she was in her own home now.

"How is everything up at the house?" Mrs. Hughes asked politely.

"All right, I think," Lady Mary answered thoughtfully. "Although one of the butlers misses his best girl."

"Oh, has Mr. Wendover left a sweetheart behind in Somerset?" Mrs. Hughes asked innocently.

Lady Mary laughed. "Not that I know of." She looked carefully at Mrs. Hughes over her teacup. "Say what you are thinking, Mrs. Hughes. You're looking at me strangely."

"You've surprised me is all. You really _are_ perfectly comfortable taking tea in my kitchen."

"Mr. Branson and I have taken tea in tenants' kitchens throughout the estate," she explained. "The kitchen of a cottage or farmhouse can be one of the coziest places in the world, I think."

"I agree with you there, milady," Mrs. Hughes concurred.

Lady Mary drained her cup and set it down, then reached for her handbag. "I've brought you something, Mrs. Hughes."

"Oh?" Mrs. Hughes was curious.

"Yes," she confirmed, pulling an envelope out and laying it on the table. "From Carson."

Mrs. Hughes resisted the urge to immediately pick the letter up and tear it open, but she could not keep her eyes from being drawn to it. Lady Mary could see this conflict in her eyes and decided to take her leave so her hostess could read her letter. She tried to see herself out, but Mrs. Hughes would not allow this. She took her guest's coat from the rack and helped her into it, thanked her for coming, and told her she was welcome to visit anytime. As soon as the door was closed, however, she rushed back into the kitchen and seized the letter, tearing it open and sinking into a chair to read.

_Dear Elsie,_

_Yours was the first love letter I've ever received. It made me smile and it surprised and flustered me, which I believe means it did everything a good love letter should. I thank you for such a frank account of your history of loving me. One day I will give you such a narrative of how I came to love you, but for now I am capable only of telling what I already have - how I came to be aware that I loved you. As far as when I began to love you, I could not say. I suspect as we grow together even further, as husband and wife, I will understand myself better. I expect you will help me to understand myself better, as you have so many times before. _

_You say that you watched over me as best you could, but not as well as you would have liked. My dearest, I could have asked for no better friend than you. It is true that you were not my wife, but I had no wife. You have been closer to me and have cared for me more tenderly than many wives care for their husbands. Where would I have been without you as my friend, my counselor, my comforter, my nurse? I would have been a lonely and perhaps even a bitter man, but instead I have been successful and truly happy in my chosen profession. It is true that I am proud to have served the Crawleys, but without you beside me, my life would not have been as full and my success would have been far less meaningful. I do not pretend to be a great man, but whatever of good there is in me has been nurtured by your encouragement and whatever of bad there is in me has been diminished by your affectionate challenges. Whatever the reason, I am glad you crossed that line at the seaside this summer, that you did not turn back, and that you led me along with you. There were times when the journey was just as frightening as it was thrilling, but it was a journey I needed to make._

_I love you. You needn't worry that I will forget to tell you so every day. I can't think of how I would make it through any day without telling you several times that I love you, even if you vex me. I think we will go on vexing each other from time to time just as we always have, but as before, we will also go on loving one another._

_I have begun the descent into madness once again, just as I did when you left London. I can only hope that two weeks will not be enough to make me well and truly mad, for I do look forward to being yours, and to your being mine._

_Ever yours,_

_Charles_

To be continued...

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	31. Visitors

Mr. Carson couldn't get away from Downton Abbey to take tea with Mrs. Hughes as often as he would have liked during the two weeks before his retirement, but Mr. Wendover's presence did make it easier for him to escape the house at odd hours. Mrs. Hughes was always happy to see him, no matter what time he came to her door. They usually drank tea together on the settee, but once he visited late in the evening. Mrs. Hughes was about to go to bed when Mr. Carson appeared with a small decanter of sherry to share with her, and they talked into the night. Mr. Carson knew he would suffer in the morning for having stayed out so late, but it was worth it. It was difficult to leave her, all flushed and smiling and beautiful, but he reminded himself that it would not be long before they would not have to part in the evening, or anytime at all.

#####

Mrs. Hughes was surprised by the variety of visitors she had in her new cottage in the two weeks before Mr. Carson's retirement. There had been the surprise of Lady Mary's visit first, and then some of the staff had dropped in on her - Mrs. Patmore, Mrs. Bute, Anna, and Daisy. She had several surprises in store for her one Thursday morning. In order to avoid disappointment, Mrs. Hughes had learned quickly not to expect every knock at the door to be Mr. Carson's, and she had also stopped trying to guess who it might be. Thus, she was quite calm when she opened the door to her first visitor of the day.

"Mr. Branson! How lovely to see you," she greeted the young man, inviting him in. Mrs. Hughes made some tea and they sat down together in the parlor.

"How are you settling in, Mrs. Hughes?" Mr. Branson asked.

"Very well," she replied. "Thank you for all you've done to make it so comfortable for me."

He nodded. "And how are your wedding plans progressing?"

"I'm quite busy, but everything seems to be going according to plan."

"Mrs. Hughes, I was speaking to Mrs. Patmore recently about your wedding." Mr. Branson suddenly seemed a bit nervous.

"Were you?" Mrs. Hughes was surprised.

"I was," he affirmed. "She told me that you'll be walking down the aisle on your own."

She smiled. "That's true. I'm old enough for you to guess that my father's dead, and I never had any brothers. But it's nothing that troubles me. That's what comes with marrying at such a late stage in life."

"Of course," Mr. Branson agreed. "But Mrs. Hughes, I'd like you to know that, if you would wish it, I would be very honored to give you away on your wedding day."

Mrs. Hughes was speechless.

"But only if you wish it," he noted. "Know that if you ask, I will be happy to serve, but my feelings won't be hurt if you had rather not. It is up to you, Mrs. Hughes."

"But are you sure?" she asked in disbelief. "Won't the family object?"

Mr. Branson laughed. "Lord Grantham will think it strange, no doubt, but his disapproval has never been my guide for good and kind behavior. The others will be surprised, but I doubt there will be any objection."

"Well, if you really mean it, I would be very happy to have your escort down the aisle on my wedding day, Mr. Branson. I'm quite touched by your offer."

"I do mean it," he assured her. "But you needn't answer right now. I know Mr. Carson may not approve, and I wouldn't want to cause trouble between you."

Mrs. Hughes found this very amusing. "Very well, I shall speak to Mr. Carson first. I expect him for a visit later today."

Mr. Branson smiled. "Good."

"Can I ask you a favor, Mr. Branson?"

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes. What can I do for you?"

"Can you carry a letter to Mr. Carson for me?" she asked.

"Certainly. The two of you are corresponding during your separation?"

"Yes," she replied. "It's a bit like being parted for the Season, and we've always exchanged letters during that time. Let me go fetch it." Mrs. Hughes went into the kitchen, where her unfinished letter lay on the table. She had hoped she might have a visitor from the Abbey today who would take the letter to Mr. Carson for her. She quickly signed and sealed the letter, then returned to the parlor.

Mr. Branson stood to take the letter from her and put it in his pocket. "I think it's time for me to be going now. Thank you for the tea."

"You're welcome here anytime, Mr. Branson," Mrs. Hughes answered with a smile.

The young man opened the door and found Lady Edith just walking up the flagstones. She and Mrs. Hughes said goodbye to him before going inside. Lady Edith had just had some tea at home, but wanted a chat with Mrs. Hughes.

"Mrs. Hughes, I'd like to thank you for your advice," Lady Edith began.

"Advice, milady?" Mrs. Hughes's brow furrowed as she tried to remember what the young woman might be speaking of.

"Well, perhaps not advice, precisely," Lady Edith admitted. "But you suggested that her ladyship hoped I would confide in her if something was wrong."

Mrs. Hughes nodded in understanding, but said nothing.

Lady Edith sat gathering her thoughts for a moment before she spoke softly. "I have a secret, Mrs. Hughes. A shameful secret. I wasn't going to tell anyone, but it's been weighing very heavily on my mind. I thought about what you said and I decided to take a risk and tell my mother."

Mrs. Hughes nodded, encouraging the young woman with a warm smile.

"I can't tell you my secret, but-"

"You've no obligation to tell me any secrets," Mrs. Hughes told her. "And I'll keep your confidence now, milady. You can be assured of that."

Lady Edith smiled a little. "Thank you," she replied shakily. "My mother was very kind when I told her my secret. I'm not sure if I will tell anyone else, or if there is something that can be done about it. But she did not disown me or chastise me, only told me that… that I would always be her daughter and she would always love me. We both know there will be consequences, but she assured me that she would stand by me if-" Here the young woman broke off, overtaken by tears.

If Lady Edith had been a member of her staff, Mrs. Hughes might have embraced her, but that didn't seem quite appropriate. Still, she could not simply stay where she was and watch the woman weep, so she compromised by moving from her chair to sit beside Lady Edith on the settee and offering her handkerchief.

"Thank you," Lady Edith sniffled. "I'm just so relieved, and so thankful."

"I'm glad things turned out better than you expected."

Lady Edith smiled through her tears. "So am I, Mrs. Hughes. And thank you for your help. You may not think you did very much, but your kind words and calm manner were just what I needed during those weeks you attended me."

Mrs. Hughes smiled and patted Lady Edith's hand. "I'm glad I could help, milady. Are you sure I can't get you some tea? Or a glass of water, perhaps?"

Lady Edith shook her head. "No, thank you. I think I should be going now."

"Very well, milady." Mrs. Hughes saw her to the door and they parted.

#####

When Mr. Carson came to her door that evening after dinner, he found Mrs. Hughes deep in thought. She was happy to see him, and savored the embrace and kiss he greeted her with, but she was a little distracted when he followed her into the kitchen where she had two wine glasses sitting out on the table. He uncorked the bottle of wine he had brought and set it on the table. They both sat down at the table.

"Thank you for your letter, love," he said.

"I'm sorry it was so short. I wasn't finished with it when Mr. Branson came to visit."

"It doesn't matter. It could have said, 'Dear Charles, I love you. Elsie' and I would have been happy with it." He paused to look at her. "Is anything wrong, Elsie?" Mr. Carson asked her, concerned. "You seem a bit preoccupied."

Mrs. Hughes returned to the present moment and smiled. "No, nothing's wrong, Charles," she answered. "I had two visitors today, and two very unusual conversations."

"Who were your visitors?" he wanted to know.

"Mr. Branson and Lady Edith," she told him. "I can't tell you what Lady Edith said, for she spoke in confidence. As for Mr. Branson, well, I'm not sure what you will say about the reason for his visit."

"He didn't speak in confidence, I gather?"

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "No, and I have to tell you what he said, for it will affect you, too."

"Oh?" Mr. Carson was curious. "Well, out with it, Elsie."

"Mr. Branson offered to give me away on our wedding day."

Mr. Carson's eyebrows rose in surprise, then drew together in consternation. He opened his mouth and immediately closed it again. Mrs. Hughes bit her lip to keep from laughing as she watched him struggle to decide how he felt about this piece of news. She could see the progression of thoughts easily just by watching his expression. First Mr. Carson thought it inappropriate for a member of the family to take such a role in the marriage of two servants. Then he realized that he was considering Mr. Branson as a true member of the family, rather than what he really was - a servant who had stepped out of place. Then he discarded that contradiction and began to consider the young man impertinent for making such an offer to someone unrelated to him, who had not asked for his help or interference.

"I was very touched by his offer," Mrs. Hughes began. "I'd like to accept it, but I won't if it will upset you terribly."

Mr. Carson's face relaxed a little as he silently studied hers.

"Mr. Branson didn't ask me for an answer, only told me that if I asked for his escort down the aisle, he would give it gladly," she explained further. "I suspect you and I will argue about Mr. Branson on other occasions, but on our wedding day, what's important to me is you. It doesn't matter how I walk down the aisle or what I'm wearing or who else is there." Mrs. Hughes laid her arm across the table, offering her hand; Mr. Carson took it. "I just want you to be there and I want you to be happy."

Finally, a slight smile appeared on his face. "I _will_ be happy as long as _you_ are there."

Mrs. Hughes returned his smile. "As though I would forget to come to my own wedding," she scoffed lightly.

His smile grew and before long they were both laughing. Mr. Carson poured the wine and they drank and chatted easily.

"How is Mr. Wendover progressing?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"He's doing quite well, Elsie. I'm very pleased."

"Has he fallen in love with Mrs. Bute yet?" Mrs. Hughes jested.

"Why do you say that?" Mr. Carson questioned. "Do you know something?"

"I was only joking, Charles," she told him.  
"I hope he _hasn't_ fallen in love with Mrs. Bute," he remarked. "She's been hoping to attain a post like she has now for some years. He's bound to be disappointed if he wants her to give it up."

"Oh, I don't know," Mrs. Hughes commented, looking piercingly into his face. "Love can make you change your plans and do things you'd never have thought you'd do. She might be more willing to give it up than you think."

Mr. Carson was sure that she wasn't talking only of Mrs. Bute now. He met Mrs. Hughes's gaze and they were both silent for a few moments. "Elsie."

"Charles."

"I almost fear asking you."

"Don't be afraid, my dear."

"How long, Elsie?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not exactly sure, Charles."

"But when did you know?"

"Nineteen-fifteen." She answered without hesitation.

"During the War," he mused.

She nodded. "I just looked at you one day and knew that I loved you."

"Just like that?" he wanted to know.

"Just like that," Mrs. Hughes confirmed. "It was at breakfast. You were grumbling about making do with only one footman, as you did most mornings then, and it just… happened. I took a sip of my tea, glanced over at you… and couldn't look away. I thanked heaven you were too distracted to notice that I was staring. That was the beginning of my madness."

"You never seemed mad to me," Mr. Carson told her.

"I daresay I never seemed mad to _anyone_," she remarked. "I was good at hiding it. And I only _felt_ mad for a few months. After that things settled down a little for me. I still had moments when I would glance at you and suddenly be struck to the bone by what a wonderful man you were or how handsome you were, but I wasn't constantly senseless."

"I don't know what to say."

"There isn't much to be said, is there?" she replied softly.

Mr. Carson hesitated for a moment, stood up, and pulled Mrs. Hughes to her feet. She let him lead her to the settee. It was much too small for him to stretch his legs out on the seat, but he sat diagonally across it and beckoned for her to sit on his lap.

"I want to hold you while you talk, Elsie," he told her.

Mrs. Hughes curled up in his lap, resting her head where his neck met his shoulder. "I was in misery for a few months when you were making plans to go to Haxby Park, but it wasn't complete misery. The night you told me you'd made up your mind to leave, I began to understand that you really cared about me. Oh, I knew you weren't in love with me, but-"

"Maybe I was," Mr. Carson mused. "If I was I didn't know it, but when I look back over the time we've known each other, I think it's possible that I've loved you a long time. It just crept up on me gradually."

"It was definitely gradual for me, too."

"But you never considered telling me?" he wondered.

"No, never," she replied firmly. "I didn't think anything could possibly be gained by it, and it seemed likely that our friendship would never be the same again - that we would lose that ease and comfort that was so special to me."

"I imagine I might have been frightened out of my wits if you had told me," he admitted.

"You _would _have been, and you might have pushed me away, too. I couldn't bear the thought of losing the bit of you that I had, even if it wasn't as much of you as I wanted. The Crawleys were your only family then. I was just your friend."

"That's not true, Elsie," he responded vehemently.

"Isn't it?"

"I'm not sure I would have known how to say it, then, but you were my family, too."

"Do you mean it?" Mrs. Hughes was very affected by this revelation.

"If I'd been forced to say how, I would have been unable to name what relation you most resembled, because in truth you were like some combination of a sister and a wife. Considering you to be like a wife would have been both presumptuous and terrifying, but calling you sister would not have been quite right, either."

Mrs. Hughes laughed softly. "I'm glad you don't find the idea of having me for your wife terrifying anymore, Charles."

"Not at all. I find the prospect quite exhilarating." Mr. Carson twitched his shoulder, nudging her to sit up and look at him.

"So do I," she agreed quietly, looking into his eyes. For a while they just sat in silence. For Mrs. Hughes, the novelty of being able to openly admire Mr. Carson had not worn off, and she enjoyed studying every detail of his handsome face. Mr. Carson was admiring _her_ as well, marveling that he had sat beside her at dinner every night for years, but had not noticed until recently how lovely she was, and wondering at the expression of tenderness on her face as she gazed back at him. After Alice had abandoned him, he had not thought any woman would ever look at him the way Mrs. Hughes now did. He wasn't even sure if Alice _ever_ had, when he really thought about it. Right now, however, he was not concerned with Alice Neal, but with Elsie Hughes, and with how much he wanted to kiss her.

She must have had the same thought, because her eyes, which had been roaming his face, now drifted down to his mouth. She raised a hand to touch his lips with her fingers, but before she could, Mr. Carson quickly pressed his lips to hers with some force, pushing her a little backwards. His arms, however, were locked around her and he pulled her into him. She squeaked in surprise and he slipped his tongue between her open lips. Mrs. Hughes teased him with her own tongue as she slid her hands up his chest and neck and into his hair. She thought she would surely either melt or burst into flames as she pulled his head down closer to hers. Mr. Carson had kissed her passionately before, but this kiss was less like a dance and more like a fiercely waged battle. They were both fighting, though not against each other, but rather against anything that might separate them. When at last they paused for breath, neither loosened their hold on the other. Mr. Carson kissed his way from her mouth to her neck, all the while whispering that he loved her and that she was beautiful. Mrs. Hughes could not speak, because just as she was recovering her breath, the sound and the feel of his voice in her ear stole it from her again. She started to feel a bit giddy, so she didn't try to say anything, simply focused on taking slow breaths. Mr. Carson's movements slowed as well, until he had stopped kissing her or speaking to her, and started to rock gently from side to side, though still clutching her tightly to his chest.

They continued like this for several minutes before he relaxed his grip on Mrs. Hughes and she rested easily on his lap, leaning against his chest. She listened to his heart beating and thought about what lay ahead. In less than a week they would be married and she would take him into her bed, so many years after she had taken him into her heart. Mrs. Hughes had felt since their engagement that Mr. Carson was holding back a little when he held her and kissed her. It was not that his caresses were half-hearted, but that he was leaving some deeper part of himself unreachable for the time being. He respected her as much as he loved her, and in Mr. Carson's eyes, that respect required that he make no demands of her before they were married, no matter how much both of them might be tempted. He had teased her about showing him the bedroom the week before, but Mrs. Hughes knew that if she had, he would not have pressed his advantage, even had she been willing. Once she wore his ring and bore his name, however, Mr. Carson would be open to her in a way he never had been, even after they had come to an understanding. Mrs. Hughes was not afraid, but she could not help being nervous. She could not think of any previous event in her life from which she could draw some guidance on how to behave, or what to expect. This was something completely fresh - a blank page on which she would write new stories of her own life as Mrs. Carson.

"Elsie."

"Mmmm?"

"I have to go now."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Yes, you do." She rose from her comfortable perch and went to get Mr. Carson's coat. He followed her to the door and she helped him into it.

"We'll talk about Mr. Branson tomorrow, Elsie."

"If you wish."

"Good night."

"Good night, Charles. Sweet dreams."

They shared one last tender kiss and then he was on his way back to the Abbey.

_To be continued..._

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	32. A Warm Shadow

Lord Grantham and Lady Edith finished breakfast before Mr. Branson, which was a stroke of luck for Mr. Carson. He was alone in the room with the young man, and he meant to speak to him. It went against every rule of service to accost Mr. Branson in this way, but he wished to speak to him as soon as possible, so he did not wait for him to rise from the table.

"Mr. Branson, might I have a word?" Mr. Carson began.

Mr. Branson was surprised, but did not mind. "Of course, Mr. Carson."

"I understand from Mrs. Hughes that you have offered to give her away at our wedding."

"Yes, that is true," the young man answered. "But only if she wants me to." He laid his napkin on the table and rose from his chair.

"So she told me. I'd just like to know why."

"Mr. Carson, you and I don't often see eye to eye on things, but I think we can agree on what a special woman Mrs. Hughes is and how important she is to so many people."

Mr. Carson inclined his head in agreement.

"I'd like to answer your question, but it may take some time and I'm due at one of the farms very shortly. I'll come find you later today and we'll talk."

Mr. Carson could not argue, so he nodded again. "Very good, sir. I shall look forward to it."

#####

Mr. Branson kept his word, finding Mr. Carson in his pantry that afternoon. Mr. Carson gestured for Mr. Branson to close the door and he did. Both men stood in silence for a while, neither quite certain how to proceed. Mr. Carson wanted to hear what Mr. Branson had to say, but he didn't know how to begin the conversation. Mr. Branson knew that Mr. Carson did not quite approve of him and didn't want to ruin what had the potential to be a cordial conversation.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Branson?" he suggested.

"I will if you will, Mr. Carson," the young man answered.

Mr. Carson nodded and they both sat. "That's where Mrs. Hughes used to sit when we had tea or a glass of wine in here," the butler remarked, indicating Mr. Branson's chair.

"Everyone upstairs misses her."

"Downstairs, too," Mr. Carson commented. "Oh, they all go on with their duties as usual, but it's not the same. It will never be the same."

"I don't think it _could_ be."

"But you didn't come here to talk about what Downton Abbey is like without Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Branson."

The young man smiled slightly. "No, I didn't. I came to answer your question about why I offered to escort her to your side next week in church. It's because of things she's done for me, and things she's done for others. She was kind to me when I was the chauffeur, when I was the earl's son-in-law, and when I was the estate agent. She's found me in despair and somehow brought me back to myself."

Mr. Carson nodded. "She's been kind to you, you say, but what do you mean 'things she's done for others'?" He was curious.

Mr. Branson took a deep breath, wondering where he should start. "When I first came to Downton Abbey, to me Mrs. Hughes seemed a bit sharp, a little harsh."

Mr. Carson frowned ominously and opened his mouth to speak in her defense, but Mr. Branson interrupted him.

"You don't need to tell me how wrong I was, Mr. Carson. Someone told me back then."

"Whom do you mean?"

"William Mason, Mr. Carson. I made some jest about Mrs. Hughes terrifying everyone, and William gave me as mighty a frown as he could and said he'd hear no words spoken against her, and that she was as good a woman as could be found in this world. It was easy enough to explain to William that I had spoken foolishly, but not maliciously, for in reality I barely knew her, living outside the house as I did. And I asked him to tell me what he meant."

"What did he say?" Mr. Carson asked quietly, swallowing hard.

"He said she sometimes had encouraging words for him when he felt sad or homesick, but most of the time she was just there, her presence often unnoticed, but her absence always felt keenly. He described her as 'a warm shadow.' Just knowing she was somewhere in the house made one feel more comfortable, he told me."

"A warm shadow," Mr. Carson mused.

"It wasn't long before I saw the truth of his words."

"Her presence unnoticed, her absence felt keenly," Mr. Carson murmured, lost in thought.

"I know William and I weren't the only young people who felt the benefit of Mrs. Hughes's influence over our lives," Mr. Branson explained. "I don't think there's much she wants that she doesn't already have, but I have offered what I thought might mean something to her."

"Did you tell her what William said?"

Mr. Branson shook his head. "No."

Mr. Carson got up from his chair and paced the room. Mr. Branson rose also, though he stood still, watching the older man turn matters over in his mind. After a minute or two, Mr. Carson seemed to relax, and he came to a stop.

"If Mrs. Hughes wishes it, I shall be grateful if you would escort her down the aisle, as her father might have done once," Mr. Carson intoned. "But I have one condition."

Mr. Branson's eyebrows rose.

"You must tell her everything you've just told me. It doesn't have to be before the wedding, and I would prefer that it _not_ be on the wedding day itself. But you must tell her."

Mr. Branson's face relaxed into a smile. "Of course," he agreed. "I suppose I ought to have told her years ago."

Mr. Carson sighed, his mind turning inward again. _And so should I have done_, he thought. He found himself reflecting again on what Mr. Branson had said. _Her presence unnoticed, her absence felt keenly._ He certainly felt her absence keenly now, but he made a silent promise never to allow her presence to go unnoticed again. If he were honest, he had to admit that he had taken her for granted sometimes, and he was ashamed. Mr. Carson hoped he could get away from the house to visit Mrs. Hughes tonight. He suddenly felt desperate to see her.

Mr. Branson stood in the room for half a minute before he realized that Mr. Carson was completely lost in his thoughts and had forgotten he was not alone. The young man smiled at his abstraction and slipped out of the room unnoticed.

#####

Mr. Carson didn't have time that night to leave Downton Abbey for the comfort of a visit with Mrs. Hughes, but he went anyway. He gave Mrs. Bute a flimsy excuse that he was sure she would see right through, and slipped out of the house. It was quite late and he wasn't sure if Mrs. Hughes would still be awake, but he had to try. His conversation with Mr. Branson had been on his mind all afternoon and evening. Mr. Carson's mind was full of memories and regrets and gratefulness and wonder. He wasn't sure what he was going to say to her, but he would find some way of telling what needed to be told.

When he reached the cottage door, he knocked firmly. There was no immediate answer, but it occurred to Mr. Carson that Mrs. Hughes might be hesitant to open her door to an unknown visitor in the dark. He knocked again, but this time called her name and identified himself. He could not hear any sound from within, and was about to turn and make his way back to the Abbey when the door swung open. In just a few seconds he had stepped inside and pulled her against his chest.

"Thank God," he whispered into her hair. "I was afraid I'd missed you."

Mrs. Hughes smiled into his chest and wrapped her arms around his middle. "You almost did."

"I'm so glad I didn't miss you." Mr. Carson held her tighter.

"Charles, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. That is, I've done so many things. Elsie, I'm so sorry. I should have… I just didn't think... but never again…" He was stumbling over his words, pulling her closer and mumbling into her neck.

"Charles!" Mrs. Hughes gasped. "Let me breathe!"

Mr. Carson immediately loosened his grasp on her, but did not release her.

"Charles, I can see you're upset," she said gently. "Come inside and sit down."

"I can't," he told her. "I'm shouldn't even be away from the house. I think Mrs. Bute will cover for me for a little while, but I must be getting back."

Mrs. Hughes was baffled. "Well, at least close the door and tell me what's wrong."

"No, Elsie," Mr. Carson replied gravely. "If I do that I'll never leave."

She met his gaze steadily. There was silence between them for a few moments before she spoke. "Then why did you come?"

His eyes searched her face while he searched for words, but in the end he found only two. He pulled her close again, more gently this time, and said, "thank you."

"For what?" Mrs. Hughes wanted to know.

"Just… thank you." Mr. Carson stepped back, cradled her face in his large hands, and kissed her forehead, before letting her go. He turned around and walked back toward the Abbey, leaving Mrs. Hughes standing bewildered in the doorway.

"You're welcome."

_To be continued…_

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	33. Together

The eve of their wedding arrived and Mr. Carson found himself oddly placid. There was nothing left to plan or worry about. He suspected he would feel nervous in the morning, but as he lay in his bed, his room now bare of nearly everything but the suit he would be married in, he could not sleep, but he was calm. He closed his eyes and let the images in his mind brighten and sharpen.

They were standing on the beach. Well, _she_ was standing in the water; _he_ was the one on the beach, fretting. _"Come on. I dare ye."_ She had certainly challenged him on numerous occasions over the years, but he wasn't sure she had ever done so quite as directly. It was a light challenge; her manner was easy, her smile warm, and she answered his anxieties with an amusing blend of practicality and teasing. _"If ye get them wet we'll dry them... Suppose a bomb goes off? Suppose we're hit by a falling star?"_ And then came the moment when she stepped right over that line that separated them. She'd been flirting a bit already, but here she surprised him. _"You can hold my hand. Then we'll both go in together."_ He had shocked himself by accepting her offer almost immediately, but now he kept thinking of her words. _Together. We'll both go in together. Together together together together._ The word took on an enormous meaning in his mind. It was about more than just living and working in the same house and now it even meant more than being close friends. This new kind of _together_ would bind them to one another in every way one person could be bound to another. It was not too late to be a little risqué, not too late to live a little. It was not, was never, too late to love.

Mr. Carson wondered what life and Mrs. Carson had in store for him. He finally drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips, replaying that conversation in his mind and dreaming of living a little, hand-in-hand with that smiling beauty on the beach.

#####

Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Branson stood just outside the church, arm-in-arm, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The wedding guests were gathered in the sanctuary; Mr. Travis would appear at any moment.

"You're sure you couldn't get used to it?" Mr. Branson was saying. "Now that you're retired?"

Mrs. Hughes, smiling and flushed with the excitement of the day, shook her head. "No, I don't think I could," she answered. "Even when you were the chauffeur, I called you Mr. Branson. Why should it be any different now?"

"Just try it once," he persisted teasingly.

"Very well, _Tom,_ you look very fine in your morning coat," Mrs. Hughes replied before shaking her head again. "No, I'm afraid I just can't do it, Mr. Branson."

"Never?" Mr. Branson asked.

Mrs. Hughes looked at him and relented. "_Probably_ never," she told him. "But ask me again in six months. Two weeks of retirement have changed me more than I would have expected. Who knows what the future may hold!"

Mr. Travis appeared at the front of the church and the organ began to play. Mr. Branson and Mrs. Hughes exchanged a smile and made their way together down the center aisle. Mr. Carson, in his best suit, stood at the front of the church waiting for his bride. His back was turned to her at first, but after she had taken a few steps in his direction he turned to meet her gaze.

Mr. Carson looked very dignified. His face showed no obvious change when he saw her. He stood tall and proud, an imposing presence. When their eyes met his chin lifted almost imperceptibly. His shoulders, already broad and magnificent, straightened just a bit. Mrs. Hughes looked at that impressive expression and saw what no one else did. He was not simply the figure at the door, the butler who held the Crawley honor so high. He was a man, one who lived and had loved and lost and loved again. When the others looked at him, they would surely see an excellent man, a handsome one, and they might even detect the faint flush in his cheeks, but she could see that much and more. She could see the smile and the love that he could hide from all but her. He was a man of flesh and bone and a beating heart. _Her_ man. _Her_ heart. Mrs. Hughes felt her own lips curling into a smile. She was happy and she was proud. She was proud of him and proud of them - who they had been, who they were, and who they would be. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Charles and Elsie. Mr. and Mrs. Carson. Friends and now lovers. She reached the front of the church and took his hand.

#####

The Carsons planned a brief wedding trip, but they would not leave until a few days after their wedding. Their first night together was to be spent in their cottage. Until today it had been Mrs. Hughes's cottage, but now it was theirs together. They had not spoken of it, but privately they each preferred the idea of spending their first night together in their own home, rather than at an inn or hotel.

The wedding celebration had gone on for several hours and Charles and Elsie had enjoyed the company of their friends, but in the late afternoon they walked home together hand in hand. Mrs. Patmore had already sent a hamper to the cottage, so they would not need to worry about dinner.

Elsie pulled the key from her handbag and went to unlock the door, but stopped herself. She placed the key in her husband's hand.

"I'll let you do the honors, Charles," she offered, smiling. "It's your home now, too."

"Thank you, dear," he said, bending to kiss her cheek before he unlocked and opened the door. "Welcome home, Mrs. Carson." When the door was closed again, the bride and groom stood just inside. They faced one another, very close but not touching, each searching the other's eyes for some idea of what to do next. This was a moment that they had both long anticipated, but had never really discussed. What was there to talk about that either of them would have felt comfortable saying aloud? Right now they could only stare at one another.

Elsie was the first to move. She had begun to feel foolish and turned away from her husband to remove and hang up her coat. When she removed her hat, Charles took off his coat and hat as well.

"Would you like some tea, Charles?" Elsie asked, offering a nervous smile to her husband.

He smiled warmly back. "That would be lovely."

"Why don't you wait on our little settee and I will take care of the rest?" she suggested, turning to enter the kitchen.

Charles frowned at her retreating figure, then followed her to the kitchen doorway, where he stood silently watching her turn on the tap to fill the kettle, set it on the stove, and begin to prepare the tea things. After just a few seconds, he crossed the room until he stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Elsie, you're trembling," he pointed out quietly.

She didn't answer, but continued to arrange the tea tray. She was very aware of her husband's hands on her, and her own hands shook even more, until she dropped a saucer on the floor and it shattered. Charles immediately removed the kettle from the heat and turned off the stove. When Elsie bent to collect the shards of broken crockery from the floor, he stopped her.

"Leave it, Elsie."

She looked up into his eyes.

"We'll clean that up later," he told her, taking her hand and leading her out of the kitchen.

"What about the tea?" she asked.

Charles didn't answer her question, pulling her into the parlor and tugging her down to sit beside him on their settee. He took her face in his hands and kissed her nose. "Now what is it that's got my darling girl so tied in knots?" he wanted to know.

"I've never been someone's wife before," Elsie answered quietly.

"And I've never had a wife," Charles answered.

"I think you know what I mean, Charles."

"You're nervous, my Elsie?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so," she admitted.

Charles let his hands fall away from her, but remained seated very close to her, looking down into her eyes. Elsie could feel the warmth radiating from her husband's body and her trembling lessened. She continued looking up into his eyes and soon felt the sensation of being swallowed up by his intense gaze. Elsie wondered why Charles did not try to touch her; she could see in his eyes that he wanted to. Her worries began to trickle away as her hands itched to caress him, her lips to kiss him. "Charles," she whispered.

"Elsie." His breath was just as uneven as hers.

Elsie realized now that her husband was trying to make her more comfortable by allowing her to take the lead. She closed her eyes and placed her palms on Charles's chest. She slowly pushed them upwards, her hands meeting behind his neck and her fingers running through his hair. She opened her eyes and looked into his for a moment before pulling his head down toward hers and kissing him hard. The moment their lips met, Charles wrapped his arms around Elsie and pulled her close, his hands caressing her back and hips. When Elsie broke away to catch her breath, he moved his lips to her cheek, her jaw, her neck - anything that wasn't covered by clothing.

"Charles." She was breathless.

"Mmmm?" The deep rumble of his voice so close to her ear gave her goosebumps.

"Would you like to see the bedroom curtains now?" she murmured, a smile in her voice.

Charles chuckled. "Indeed, I would."

Elsie extricated herself from his embrace and rose from her seat, then drew him up by the hand and led him upstairs.

_To be continued…_

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	34. Home

They were kissing passionately now, their hands beginning to roam about each other's bodies. Somewhere in the back of Elsie's mind was the worry that she would do something wrong, or that she would not please her husband, but for the most part her apprehensions had fled and all she could think about was the moment she was in. Her fingers found their way to Charles's necktie and she fiddled with the knot absentmindedly as she kissed him. There had been many nights when she had sat in his pantry with him, wishing she could untie his tie for him. Mostly she just thought he must be uncomfortable in that white collar and tie after a long day of work, but there was a part of her that wished for the warmth of an accidental brush of her fingers against his chest or neck, a part of her that wanted to see what he looked like without that restrictive bit of his uniform. Even when he was ill and she visited him in his bedroom, he buttoned his pajamas up to his chin. She had often wondered if he always slept like that or if he had been trying to protect her modesty. Now they were married and she could take off his tie, his collar, his shirt, and his ... but she was getting ahead of herself. Charles's lips and tongue were distracting her so much that her hands had abandoned the attempt to untie the tie and were now pulling him closer to her by tugging at his lapels.

"Elsie," he murmured. "Oh, my beautiful Elsie."

"Charles."

"Yes?"

"What should I do next?" she whispered. "I want... that is, I would like to..." Elsie blushed; she wasn't quite sure what to say.

"You would like to...?"

"I..." She took a deep breath. "I want you. And I want to do everything right." Elsie's hands were trembling again.

"I'm sure you will, dearest," Charles told her in a comforting tone.

"But you can't be sure," she persisted. "I've never done this before." Elsie was beginning to wish she had gone to Anna for advice. It would have been an excruciating conversation for both of them, but perhaps worth the embarrassment.

"Elsie, sit down for a moment." Charles sat down and patted the bed beside him. She obeyed. "We're going to... be together now. But then we will be again tomorrow, perhaps more than once, and the day after that, and so on. It will be different every time, but as long as you are you, it will be wonderful. You needn't worry that you won't please me, love, or that you'll do something wrong. I can assure you that it's just not possible."

Elsie smiled up at him. "That was quite a speech, Charles."

"Yes, well, enough of all that, Elsie," he replied. "Just kiss me."

They leaned in to each other and their lips met. When they pulled apart, Elsie's fingers went to Charles's tie again, and she managed to loosen it a bit, while his hands began to unfasten the buttons of her blouse. She pulled the tie from around his neck and tossed it to the floor before starting on his collar. Once she had removed it, she undid the top two buttons of his shirt and touched the newly exposed skin with her fingertips. Charles watched her, mesmerized at her apparent fascination with this part of him. Her breathing was fast and ragged as she stretched up to kiss the hollow between his collarbones.

"I've always wanted to do that," Elsie whispered. "I've never seen that part of you before."

Charles laughed shakily. "Please do it again anytime you like," he murmured. "Would you lie down on the bed, Elsie? There's something I've been thinking about, too."

"All right," she agreed.

When she was comfortable, Charles slowly removed her shoes and then ran both of his hands slowly up one of her legs, unfastened her stocking, and rolled it down to her foot. Elsie sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his hands on her calves, her thighs. Once he had dropped the stocking to the floor, he did the same with the other leg. Charles perched on the side of the bed beside her feet and began to caress her ankles with his hands. "They feel just as lovely as they look," he rumbled, his eyes twinkling. He placed a kiss on each ankle and ran his hands under her skirt and slowly up one of her legs. He touched her in a way that made her whimper, first from uncertainty, then from pleasure. She wanted something more, but she didn't want him to stop.

Soon, however, he did stop, and Elsie opened her eyes, only to find her husband hovering over her. They kissed, open-mouthed, and things moved much more quickly from there. Their clothes, along with Elsie's hairpins, were all gradually discarded, strewn over the floor and the bed, as they slowly peeled away each layer that separated them. They exchanged kisses and caresses both bold and shy, each beginning to learn what gave the other pleasure.

Elsie had known there would be some relief from the delicious tension that seemed to build between her and Charles whenever they were together. She had known it would feel good. But as she lay on her back with her husband between her thighs, moving rhythmically within her, she knew that 'good' didn't even begin to describe what she was experiencing. Elsie hadn't previously been aware that there was any feeling on _earth_ quite so exquisite and she wrapped her legs around him, moaning her encouragement as he steadily increased his pace.

Charles's madness of the summer was nothing compared to the madness he now felt as he made love to his wife for the first time. She was soft and pliant beneath him, but she panted his name and tried to pull him closer to her; she _wanted_ him. Charles had known that she could not do otherwise than please him, and that she would be beautiful. Her response, however, was something he had not counted on, and while it overwhelmed him, it also drove him on. It was she who had set him on fire and only she could quench the flame.

It took a few minutes for them to come down to earth after they had both reached the peak, but before long they drifted off to sleep, tangled up together on top of the blanket.

#####

It was dark outside by the time Elsie awoke, ravenous. Dinner was prepared and waiting downstairs, but she was so comfortable she didn't want to move. Charles was still asleep, curled up against her, his arm draped heavily across her stomach. She turned her head to watch him sleep. Elsie smiled at what a sweet picture he made. His hair was mussed, a few unruly pieces of it sticking out in several different directions, and that one curly lock falling over his brow. Charles looked so peaceful at rest, and the combination of the slight smile on his lips and his messy hair made her think of a mischievous boy. When he opened his twinkling eyes suddenly to return Elsie's gaze, he still gave the impression of mischief, though now he looked decidedly less boyish. Elsie shivered.

"Are you cold, love?" he asked sleepily.

"No," she answered. "Just hungry. Aren't you?"

"Yes," he agreed. "Where is your lady's maid? Isn't she supposed to bring us dinner in bed?"

Elsie laughed at him. "You'd like a lady's maid to find you in my bed? Like this?" she asked. "She would probably be so shocked by the sight of us in such a state that she'd drop the tray on the floor. We didn't even turn down the bed, Charles!"

Charles chuckled and raised himself up on his elbow to look around the room. The sight of their clothing scattered all over the bed and the floor and his naked and smiling wife beside him gave him a sense of pride and contentment. He sighed happily and lay back down, resting his head on her breast and shifting to find the most comfortable position. "Ow!" Charles sat up suddenly, reaching for his side.

Elsie frowned. "What's wrong, Charles?"

He brought his hand out in front of him and chuckled. Between his finger and thumb was one of Elsie's hairpins.

She laughed as well. "I'm afraid those pins have gotten everywhere."

Charles tossed the hairpin on the floor and curled up against her once more. "Your hair is beautiful, Elsie," he breathed in her ear.

Elsie smiled and reached out to toy with the stray curl that fell across his forehead. "I like this curl," she told him. "I always have. It makes you look so… Well, I don't know what exactly, but I like it."

Charles grunted. "I'm glad someone likes it, though I can't say I do. It takes a great deal of pomade to keep it in place all day."

"You needn't slick it down anymore if you don't want to, Charles," Elsie pointed out. "You're retired now."

Charles kissed Elsie's cheek. "I suppose that's true." He moved his lips from her cheek to her ear and then down her neck. "But now I know you like it so much, I might want to leave it for only you to see."

Elsie had enjoyed the sound of Charles's voice almost since the day they had met, when she first arrived at Downton. In recent days she had found that when he spoke or whispered in her ear it was difficult to think of anything but him and how close he was to her. Now he was speaking quiet words of love in her ear and caressing her body lightly with his fingers. Her breathing grew erratic and her hand caressed his chest. Somehow, without her having been aware of it, he had pulled her tightly against him and was kissing her mouth urgently. She pulled away for a moment. "Dinner," she murmured distractedly. "Hungry."

"Yes, Elsie," he agreed, his voice even deeper than usual. "Very hungry."

She sighed and gave in with little thought to her stomach. Dinner could wait. Making love could not.

#####

Elsie padded around the kitchen in her dressing gown, her feet bare and her hair loose and tangled. After she had cleaned up the broken saucer from a few hours earlier, she put a kettle on to boil and opened the basket of food, knowing she would find a variety of delicacies to choose from. She had no doubt that Mrs. Patmore and her maids had taken great care in this particular case. Elsie really was famished now, so she didn't even wait for the tea to be ready before she ate a few chocolate biscuits and a slice of cheese. She had left Charles half-asleep upstairs, but she was too hungry to stay in bed any longer. She suspected he wouldn't be far behind her. Sure enough, just before the kettle boiled, he appeared in the kitchen and went straight to the basket of food.

"I can see you're ahead of me, Mrs. Carson," he said, finding that she had already taken some things out.

"I'm starving, Charles," she told him. "But you needn't worry. I didn't eat _all_ of the chocolate biscuits." She poured boiling water over the tea leaves and set the tray on the table beside their basket.

Charles was already choosing things out of the basket for their meal. "Would you get us some plates, Elsie?"

"Of course. It looks delicious, doesn't it? Mrs. Patmore outdid herself."

"It was Daisy, actually," Charles commented.

"Oh?" Elsie was curious.

"Yes," he told her. "She asked Mrs. Patmore particularly to be allowed to put this together for us."

"Well that was very sweet of her. Do you know why?" she asked.

"No, I don't," Charles replied. "I would guess that she misses you, Elsie, and this was a way for her to do something special for you."

"What's this, then?" Elsie held a small envelope in her hand. "It was in the basket."

Charles took it from her. "It's addressed to us."

"Well? Aren't you going to open it?"

Charles shrugged and tore the envelope open as neatly as was possible without his letter opener. Elsie went back to setting out their meal while he read the note. Before long she had everything ready and had set the basket aside. She turned back to her husband and found him still peering down at the small sheet of paper in his hand. He had a slight smile on his face and he looked mildly bemused.

"I wondered all summer if we'd been seen," Charles remarked. "It seemed a minor miracle that there weren't any remarks on it." He chuckled.

"What are you talking about?" Elsie wanted to know.

Charles handed her the letter.

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Carson,_

_Congratulations on your marriage. I hope you enjoy the treats in this basket and that you have a nice holiday in London._

_I was sitting with Mrs. Patmore at the seaside when we saw you holding hands and wading in the sea. She asked me not to tell anyone and I haven't. I know some people wouldn't understand. It made me glad then to see you both enjoying the water and the sunshine. It makes me glad now to know that you'll always take care of each other._

_Thank you for taking care of me and all the others at Downton._

_Yours truly,_

_Daisy Mason_

"You see?" Elsie commented, smiling at her husband. "She's going to miss you, too."

Charles tried to look skeptical, but he hadn't been able to dismiss the little grin from his face since he had read Daisy's note. "Whatever you say, Elsie." He kissed her hair and then gestured to the table. "Didn't you say you were hungry?"

"I certainly did."

"Then you'd better sit down and have some dinner before I eat everything myself."

Elsie laughed and they sat down to their first meal together in their own home.

_To be continued…_

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	35. Westminster Abbey

Charles and Elsie walked across the bridge hand-in-hand. Besides the time they spent completely alone, this was the part of their honeymoon Elsie had looked forward to most. They were on their way to Westminster Abbey. She had seen it from the outside, but had never actually visited. She had memories, however, of walking across the lawn at Downton Abbey with Charles as he told her all about Westminster Abbey and the Lady Chapel. She had almost felt like she was there. She had hoped she might visit someday, but at the time didn't think it very likely. Elsie would have taken Charles's suggestion that she visit London with her sister given the chance, but she had a feeling it might have been too difficult to arrange; Thora would have had difficulty getting away from the farm and she probably wouldn't have been as interested in seeing London as Elsie was. Now, however, she was going to visit a centuries-old church with a man who knew a great deal about the place. Her grip on her husband's hand tightened as they approached and Charles smiled at the expression on her face.

"Excited, love?"

Elsie looked up at her husband. "Very," she told him. "My first visit to Westminster Abbey was lovely, but I suspect this time it will be even better."

Charles smiled fondly at his wife. "I think this will be my best visit yet. More beautiful than ever," he murmured.

Elsie didn't answer, only nudging him with her elbow and looking away from him. After years of being so close, but always separated by invisible barriers, they had admitted their mutual love barely two months ago and she hadn't yet gotten used to his compliments. They had been flirting since that day at the beach, but after their engagement, when Charles came right out and called her beautiful, Elsie was often flustered. She blushed and couldn't prevent what she considered a rather foolish grin from appearing on her face. This ruffled mood was in complete opposition to her usual imperturbable state so it surprised her that she liked the way it made her feel when Charles paid her these little compliments. That he loved her was marvelous; she had hoped for it for years. She had even allowed herself to think about how it might feel to be held in his arms, what it might be like to kiss him, but she had never imagined so many of the little things. The way his eyes twinkled with a touch of mischief when he told her that he loved her ankles. The fact that he could make her feel like a queen just by kissing her hand. How he had taken to greeting her in the kitchen every morning with a pat on the bottom and a kiss on the top of her head. Elsie couldn't have dreamed these things up, but they made life and love so much richer than she had thought possible. Though there had been dark moments of longing and loneliness, she _had_ been happy at his side for so many years, even before she had begun crossing lines, but the happiness she knew now was different. She could feel it not only in her heart, but in her face and her fingers and toes, even in her ankles; she quietly overflowed with the joy of requited love.

They reached the entrance to the Abbey and went inside. "I was going to marry you here, love, but they were booked much too far in advance," Charles told her quietly. "I couldn't wait any longer."

Elsie didn't look at him, absorbed as she was in the sights around her, but she smiled. "You say the silliest, sweetest things, my man."

They walked together in silence after that. Charles had planned to tell her all about the history and various features of the building as they walked around, but there was something sacred about this time and this place that kept him from speaking. He spent about half of the time taking in his surroundings and half of the time watching Elsie's face as she saw everything for the first time. The experience was something akin to watching her sleep; there was a certain peace about her face as she looked with wonder all around her, her lips parted slightly and her eyes wide open, trying not to miss anything. She was almost painfully beautiful. Charles felt a little breathless just looking at her.

He didn't notice how far they had gone until Elsie suddenly stopped walking. "That's it, isn't it, Charles?" she asked him softly. "The Lady Chapel?"

"Henry VII's Lady Chapel," he confirmed. "What do you think Elsie?"

She moved again, entering the Chapel. "It's astonishing," she murmured. "Just exquisite."

They stood together in silence, her hand in his, enjoying the beauty of architectural features whose names Charles knew but which he could not call to mind at the moment. It had taken men of learning and intelligence and determination to create this place, but one did not need to understand its design and construction to appreciate its delicate grace. Other visitors passed them by for a while, but eventually they made their way around the rest of the Abbey and departed quietly.

#####

"So, did you like it, Elsie?" Charles asked as they were crossing the bridge a few minutes later.

"I loved it, Charles," she replied. "It was delightful, stunning, amazing, marvelous, wonderful, and so many other things."

Charles was very pleased that she was so enthusiastic about one of his favorite places. "I'm glad." He paused for a moment. "I… have a present for you which perhaps I ought to have given you before."

Elsie raised her eyebrows in question.

He reached into his coat, pulled a small booklet from an inside pocket, and handed it to her. She glanced at the front and then flipped through it quickly. "It's about Westminster Abbey," she observed. "When did you get this?"

"I searched it out when I returned to London after our first visit to Westminster Abbey," he admitted. "I meant to give it to you when you planned a trip to London, whether with your sister or someone else."

Elsie smiled. "What a thoughtful gift, Charles. I shall treasure it always."

"I meant to read to you from it today as we walked around the church, but the silence seemed too precious to be broken."

She nodded. "Yes, it was. I don't think I've felt anything like that before."

"It's a sacred place. I suppose it makes sense that there might sometimes be an unexplained presence that can't really be described."

Elsie nodded again and was silent. After they had walked for a few minutes more, it began to rain lightly. Charles took the book from Elsie and tucked it back into his pocket to protect it from the weather. They picked up their pace, hoping to avoid getting too terribly wet. When the rain grew heavier, Charles decided they had better take a cab back to the hotel, since they had no umbrella. However, by the time he had gotten one to stop for them, they were both thoroughly soaked. It wasn't far to their hotel, but Charles noticed that Elsie was shivering, so he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to his side.

Elsie sighed happily at the comfort of having a warm husband to be nestled up against as they rode through London. When they arrived, Charles paid the driver and they ran from the cab to the door of the hotel lobby, although they could hardly get any more soaked than they already were.

_To be continued..._

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	36. Letters in Bed

**Next to last chapter!**

In their room, Charles and Elsie both quickly tossed away hats and shrugged out of coats. Charles was almost entirely undressed when he noticed that Elsie was having trouble with her buttons.

"Let me help you," he suggested.

Elsie was mildly frustrated. "My hands don't seem to be moving very fast," she grumbled, her teeth chattering.

Charles brushed her hands away from the buttons of her blouse. "It's no wonder," he remarked, taking over the job himself. "They're freezing. We'd better get you warm. I should have tried to get a cab as soon as the rain started." He quickly undressed her and when he went in search of his own dressing gown, she climbed into the bed and crawled under the covers.

Charles walked to the bed and lifted up a corner of the blanket. "Elsie, come out of there."

"Don't you want to climb in and help me get warm?" she flirted.

"I'd love to, dear, but your teeth are still chattering. You don't need a tumble with your husband, you need a hot bath."

"What a shame that I'm too sensible to argue with you," Elsie lamented, sitting up in bed, still wrapped in the blankets.

Charles bent down and kissed her searingly before speaking softly in her ear. "The sooner you have a hot bath, the sooner you'll be fit for that tumble." He walked into the bathroom, turned on the hot water, and returned with a large towel. Elsie slid out of bed and allowed Charles to wrap her in the towel and lead her away.

Once she was in the tub, Charles gently washed her back and her arms, her stomach and her breasts. Elsie's teeth stopped chattering and she sighed as she relaxed into the warmth of the water and her husbands hands.

"Won't you join me, love?" Elsie asked softly.

"You really are a siren," he replied in a low tone. "Seductive, but dangerous."

"Dangerous? How?" she wanted to know.

"There's no way we can both fit safely in that tub. I'd be dashed against the rocks for certain."

Elsie laughed warmly. "Very well, my silly man, but I expect you to - oh!" She gasped in surprise and pleasure to find her husband's fingers suddenly between her thighs, grazing her so lightly she couldn't breathe for a moment. As he continued to caress her, she grasped the sides of the tub and leaned her head back, closing her eyes and biting her lip.

"Does that feel good, my Elsie?"

She only whimpered in reply. Charles continued to move his hand and her breathing grew more erratic. He bent down and kissed her hard; she returned his kiss with fervor and their tongues danced and teased. Elsie broke the kiss and moaned his name. She was getting closer to something. She was almost there.

Charles removed his hand and Elsie sat up, her eyes flying open. "Where? What? No!"

"It's time to get out of the water now, love," he told her, dark mischief dancing in his eyes. He helped her step out of the tub and wrapped the towel around her shoulders. Elsie tried to throw it off, but he was not deterred from slowly drying every inch of her skin.

"Oh, you are teasing me, you wicked, wicked man!" Elsie protested. Charles was resolute, however, so she stopped fighting him and managed to untie the belt of his dressing gown and push it from his shoulders. Because his hands were still occupied with her, it did not fall to the floor, but it did reveal that he was dressed only in his undershorts, which had somehow escaped the rain. Elsie's first inclination was to pull down the shorts, but she thought she might return a little of the torment he was exacting on her. She reached out hesitantly and slid one finger between his skin and the waistband of those shorts. Before she could go any further, however, the towel fell away from her body, Charles's dressing gown dropped to the floor, and he lifted her off of the floor and deposited her on the bed. Elsie was amazed at how quickly he moved; within a few seconds he was naked, had climbed onto the bed, and was looming over her. Charles hovered for a moment, his eyes roaming her face. "You're beautiful," he said hoarsely.

Elsie looked up into his eyes in some wonder and reached up to caress his cheek. She thought and felt more than she could possibly say, so she spoke the words that made all the others superfluous. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Charles kissed her lips softly and ran his hand along her waist and hip.

Elsie pulled his head down to hers; there was a hint of desperation in her kiss. "Don't make me wait any longer," she urged him.

"Doesn't the waiting make it all the sweeter, love?" Charles's words were teasing, but he did not intend to resist her much longer.

She pinned him with a serious look. "We've waited quite long enough for this, don't you think?"

"I do," he replied, rendered momentarily immobile by her piercing gaze.

"Oh, Charles," Elsie whispered, closing her eyes and wrapping her legs around him. "Please."

So he gave her what she wanted, what they both wanted. It wasn't long before they lay tangled up together, their breathing slowly returning to normal, exchanging little affectionate kisses. Charles tugged the covers up over them both and pulled Elsie close. "Do you feel warmer now, love?" he asked her.

"Mmhmm," she sighed. "That was a lovely tumble."

"It certainly was," he agreed, kissing her lightly.

"We've three days left in London?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I was just wondering how many tumbles might be had in three days."

"Well," Charles began seriously. "If the weather continues like this I'm afraid there won't be much sightseeing for us. We may have to spend most of our time indoors, Elsie."

"Oh dear, how dreadful," she replied, but an impish smile belied her lament.

Charles just laughed, then yawned and fell more deeply into his pillow. He drifted off to sleep a few minutes later, Elsie following close behind.

#####

"Do you know what I'll miss, now that we're married?" Charles asked. He and Elsie were in their nightclothes, having a morning cup of tea in bed.

She thought for a moment. "No, I don't."

"Letters."

"Well, have you lost the ability to read and write?" Elsie teased. "Who says we can't write letters?"

Charles set his cup on the bedside table, got out of bed, and began rummaging in his suitcase. Elsie watched with interest, but didn't question him. "I'm glad you feel that way, love, because I've written you a letter already." He came back to the bed with a bundle of letters in his hand, tied with a blue ribbon. He slid the top letter out and handed it to her. It was addressed simply with her first name.

Elsie's interest was caught by the bundle. "Are those all my letters?" she wanted to know. "You saved them?"

"Of course I did," Charles told her. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I didn't know they meant quite that much to you until later in the Season."

"They most certainly did!" he asserted. "I lived in eager anticipation of every one of them."

"Did you?" Elsie smiled.

"Oh yes," he confirmed. "Often to the point of distraction. I did tell you I was half mad without you, Elsie."

She raised her eyebrows. "Where did you get the ribbon?"

"I asked Mrs. Bute to get it from one of the lady's maids. Blue like your eyes, and the sea and the sky. Of course I didn't tell her any of that." Charles pointed to the envelope in her hand. "Aren't you going to read that letter, Elsie?"

"Of course." She opened the letter and read.

_Dear Mrs. Carson,_

_I'll call you Elsie most of the time, but I won't pretend that it won't please me to address you as Mrs. Carson occasionally. It will be a reminder that we belong to each other in every way._

_Thank you for holding my hand to steady me as we walked through the water at Brighton. Thank you, also, for unbalancing me again with your lovely letters after you went back to Downton. I didn't know what was happening to me at the time, but I was starting to realize that I cared for you a great deal, so much that my own strange behavior seemed a small price to pay for the novelty of this new style of correspondence. When I returned to Downton after the Season, you continued to steady and unbalance me by turns, until at last we came to an understanding that had been years in the making._

_I know you will be always beside me now, to hold my hand when I need to feel steady. I hope you will allow me to steady you as well. I can make any burden of yours lighter, if you will let me. I've wanted to offer you that gift for a long time, but I did not have the right to do so until now. I wish to help with your every hardship and anxiety, not because you are not strong enough to carry a heavy load on your own, but because I love you._

_Ever yours, darling of my heart,_

_Charles_

Elsie wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown. "Charles, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Charles frowned and moved to gather her into his arms. "Don't cry, love. I didn't mean to reproach you."

"But I should have… I wish I had-"

"Never mind," he said, gently shushing her. "We've each done our share of hiding fears and problems from one another over the years."

"Yes, we have," Elsie admitted.

"It just seems like it would be less painful to carry some of your burden than to watch you carry it alone," Charles suggested quietly.

She took a deep breath. "I hadn't thought of it like that," she murmured. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He kissed her forehead. "Will there be any reply to my letter?"

"Of course," Elsie answered. "Have you got a pen and paper?"

Charles pointed across the room. "In the desk, I think."

Elsie set down her cup, climbed out of bed, and sat down at the desk. She found the pen and paper and glanced over her shoulder at her husband. A hint of a smile appeared on her lips as she wrote. After she had been writing for a minute or so, she looked over her shoulder again, this time with an expression of unconcealed mischief on her face. She worked on the letter for a little while longer and then folded up the paper and returned to the bed. Charles was eager to read this letter, but he waited patiently for Elsie to give it to him.

"Charles, you must promise never to show this to anyone," she directed him.

"I've never had the intention of showing _any_ of your letters to anyone," he replied.

Elsie looked down at the paper in her hand. "I can't believe I've committed these words to paper," she murmured, more to herself than to Charles. "I might do better to throw it on the fire."

"You can't tease me like that, Elsie," he told her. "You really _must_ let me see it now." He held out his hand and Elsie placed the paper in it. She burrowed under the covers and curled up next to him while he read.

_Dear Charles,_

_It pleases me very much to be your wife and, just as you will enjoy addressing me by your name, I will take advantage of every opportunity to call you Charles, after so many years of loving Mr. Carson._

_You are quite right that we should share our troubles. There is nothing to be gained by one of us trying to protect the other by concealing pain or distress; after so many years we know each other too well to hide these things completely. Better to weather the storm together. That's just one of the many ways we can love one another._

_I was glad to hold your hand, to steady you when you felt uncertain of your footing at the beach. I thank you in turn for keeping me very unsteady when we took our first tumble together, not long ago, and every time since. You seem to know just what to do, love, to keep me trembling, but one day I shall get the better of you and you will be as giddy as I am every time you touch me. It seems a little unfair that I should be so spoilt. Don't you agree, my dear?_

_Ever yours, my enticing love,_

_Mrs. Carson_

"I think there's been some misunderstanding, Mrs. Carson," Charles stated gravely, indicating the letter.

Elsie looked up at his face. "What do you mean?"

Charles slipped down from a sitting position to lie on his side next to his wife. "It's this bit about your being spoilt," he murmured. "It's simply not true." He tossed aside the letter and let his hand slide under Elsie's nightgown and drift up one of her thighs.

She closed her eyes, breathing heavily. "That's... just what I mean," she panted. "When you... do _that_ with your... fingers. I just… Oh, my…"

Charles leaned down and nibbled on her earlobe. "Do you know what makes me giddy?" he asked softly.

Elsie could only shake her head.

He lowered his voice to a hot whisper against her neck. "That you _like it _so much."

She moaned and tried to kiss him, but he pulled back, just out of reach of her lips. "The sounds that you make, Mrs. Carson, are the most exquisite music to me."

Elsie tried again and this time succeeded in kissing him, though only on the chin. "You're still winning, Mr. Carson," she sighed. "You're still getting the better of me."

Charles laughed, soft and low. "If you say so, Mrs. Carson."

"I do say so," she breathed. "And I _will_ get the better of _you_ one day."

"I shall look forward to it, my dear."

He didn't have long to wait.

_To be continued…_

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	37. Reminiscing

**OK, I lied. **_**This**_** is the second to last chapter.**

Charles took out his watch for the fifth time as he meandered along the path between the cottage and Downton village. He did not wish to return home too soon, but he was also afraid of returning too late. He had left Elsie alone with Mr. Branson, at the latter's request, and he wanted to give them enough time to speak privately, but he wanted to arrive as soon as he could after Mr. Branson left to be able to comfort her if she needed him. Charles looked at his watch again, turned purposefully toward the cottage, and walked briskly back home. Elsie was alone, her handkerchief in her hand, and he joined her on the settee, putting his arm around her shoulder.

"Oh, Charles," she murmured through tears.

"Shhhh, Elsie. It's all right, my dear."

"Will I ever stop missing the dear boy?" she asked. "Poor William." Elsie turned to her husband and wrapped her arms around his middle, letting her tears wet his waistcoat.

"I don't think you ever will," Charles rumbled. "But it's less painful as time passes, I think."

She nodded. "I've just had a bittersweet moment."

"I know."

"How do you know?" she mumbled into his chest.

"Mr. Branson told me what William said just before we were married, when I questioned him about why he wanted to give you away," Charles admitted.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she wanted to know.

"I thought it would mean more coming from him, so I asked that he tell you someday."

Elsie couldn't help smiling. "I believe you're right, Charles."

"And _he_ was right, too. 'A warm shadow,' I believe he said. 'Her presence unnoticed, her absence felt keenly.' I promised myself that day never to take you for granted again, love."

"And you've kept your promise," she told him, but then her eyebrows drew together. "That wasn't the day you paid me that strange evening visit, was it? When you came to my door, but would not come inside or even stay more than a few minutes?"

"The very one," he confirmed. "I was a bit overcome after my conversation with Mr. Branson. I thought of all the times I had taken your care for granted and I wanted to say so many things, but in the end nothing even remotely eloquent came out."

Elsie laughed softly. "You just said 'thank you.' I didn't know what had come over you."

"Well, now you know, my Elsie." Charles squeezed her shoulder briefly. "Thank you for loving me, then and now."

#####

A few hours later Charles found Elsie on the settee with a book on her lap. She wasn't paying much attention to the book, however; she rested her head on the back of the settee and wiped her nose with her handkerchief.

"Are you still feeling sad, love?" Charles asked, sitting down beside her.

Elsie looked up and smiled ruefully at him. "Not anymore. I'm afraid I've caught a cold."

"You'd better go to bed then, Elsie," he commanded gently.

She didn't like to agree without an argument when Charles spoke to her in that tone, but she knew he was right. She allowed him to help her up and walk with her up the stairs and into their room. Though Elsie protested briefly, Charles insisted on removing all of her clothing himself, dressing her in her nightgown, and tucking her into bed.

"I'm going to make you some tea, my dear. Is there anything else you need?"

"No." Her eyes were already closed.

When Charles returned with the tea, she was fast asleep, so he drank it himself, sitting up in bed and watching over his wife.

Charles didn't like to see her ill, but he got some satisfaction out of caring for her over the next few days; now that they were married he was permitted to return, in some small measure, the favor of her nursing him through illness so many times over the years. He could understand now what Elsie must have gone through when he had ignored her warnings about overworking himself and nearly had a heart attack, and again when he had the Spanish Flu. Charles knew that Elsie would be well again before too long and he was still uncomfortable seeing her ill. How would he feel if her recovery were uncertain? And if he had to hide his regard for her and his worry, and go on working just as always? It must have been a dreadful time for her. Charles made her many cups of tea, brought her water and headache powders, prepared food for her, and read to her when she was awake. He kept clean sheets on their bed and changed her nightgown every day so she would be comfortable. And while she slept, he watched her. It didn't matter if her hair was stuck to the side of her face and her nose was red and she snored. She was beautiful and he felt lucky that he was allowed to care for her like this. It was one of the hidden freedoms granted by marriage.

After several days, Elsie began to feel better. She was still tired and her cough lingered, but her appetite returned and she didn't sleep quite as much. Charles brought her some tea and sat in bed chatting with her.

"I'm glad you're feeling a little better, love," he told her. "Soon you'll be up and about again. I think you should stay inside for a while longer, though. It's rather chilly outside right now."

Elsie nodded. "We can sit on the settee under a blanket and you can read to me."

"Certainly, if you like," Charles agreed.

"I like having you read to me." She smiled at him over the rim of her cup. "I don't think I would have been cured so quickly without your reading me poetry every day."

He chuckled. "Well, we've gone through all the sonnets, but I'm sure there are plenty of other things I can read to you."

"Sounds lovely."

"You've told me you like to hear me speak, my dear," Charles remarked. "But you ought to know that I love your voice as well."

Elsie smiled. "Do you?"

He nodded. "I do. I have for a long while."

She was curious. "For how long? Can it be some clue to how long you've loved me?"

Charles smiled. "I think it might be. I remember some time ago you were telling me of your meeting with a man who had made you an offer of marriage. I thought you were about to tell me you had accepted him and would be leaving Downton, and I remember thinking how sad it was that such a lovely, sweet voice would be delivering such devastating news."

Elsie raised her eyebrows. "Lovely voice? Devastating news? This is something you've not told me before."

"The thought crossed my mind only briefly, and I forgot about it until recently. That was in nineteen-thirteen, I think?" Charles's expression had turned mischievous.

"Yes, that's right," she answered suspiciously.

"Then I'm ahead of you, Elsie. For you it was nineteen-fifteen." He looked very satisfied with himself.

Elsie gave him a skeptical eye. "It's not a contest, Charles. Besides, nineteen-fifteen was when I knew for certain. You were well behind me there - a full eight years!"

"Very well," he conceded. "Give me your equivalent to my nineteen-thirteen."

Elsie thought for a moment before speaking. "Nineteen-twelve."

Charles waited, but she did not elaborate. "And?"

"Once you said that the Crawleys were the only family you had. I was sad for you." She paused. "And I was jealous of the Crawleys."

Charles reached out and pulled her close to his chest, sending her empty teacup rolling across the blanket. "You're my family now, Elsie."

"I know, Charles. And I'm very happy."

He kissed his wife's forehead and loosened his hold on her. "Happy, perhaps, but your throat sounds a bit raspy again. You'd better quiet down and let me read to you again. What will it be next, Elsie? Poetry or prose?"

"Prose." Elsie smiled and climbed out of bed. She opened a drawer and pulled out a packet of letters tied with red ribbon.

"My letters." Charles smiled fondly.

Elsie untied the ribbon and flipped through the letters, looking for one in particular. When she found it, she handed it to her husband and settled in to listen.

Charles opened the letter and read.

"_My darling Elsie,_

_How is it that I have written you hundreds of letters over the course of our acquaintance, but not a single one of them has been a love letter? Some of the letters I wrote you this summer were almost love letters, but I was not ready to call them that. They were letters of affection, I think, rather than merely friendship, but I believe it's time for you to receive a proper love letter from me. I only hope you'll forgive the rather unconventional mode of delivery._

_I love you. I don't think I will ever tire of telling you so. I would spend every day doing nothing but saying, "I love you," but if I did that I would only be telling you and never showing you. I love you, but I also want to kiss you, to hold your hand, to make tea for you, to care for you when you are ill, to read to you as we sit in front of the fire, and a thousand other things. Once we are married, I plan to do just that, and anything else you would like. Until then, I will do as much as I can. It may not be much, but I hope you will know that you are cherished and loved, and that you are wonderful._

_I wonder what you will think when I tell you that it was a letter that brought me to this place, that brought me to you. Do you remember the note you gave me to read when I returned to London after bringing Isis to Downton? You asked me not to read it until I reached London, and I meant my promise when I made it, but before I was far from home, I had talked myself into opening it anyway. That letter, probably the shortest you've ever written to me, impelled me at last to have done with my foolish denial and let myself love you. I was frightened when I struggled to forswear you, but at some point after I resigned that battle, I stopped being afraid. You cannot imagine, dear one, how much I feared you, or so I thought. What I truly feared was myself, and what might happen if I liberated my heart. I read your note in what I would then have called a moment of weakness and I was overwhelmed. I was no match for love, but I knew I was safe in your hands. If you had not loved me, too, I know you would have broken my heart as gently as you could, and you still would have stood my friend. But I have been blessed beyond what I deserve, in discovering that you love me just as I love you._

_I have loved before, but never a woman so strong and true as you. There could be no other so strong and true, nor one so beautiful, for there is only one of you in this world. How lucky for me that I am the man you have chosen to be your husband._

_Sleep well, my love, and dream of me. I will see you in the morning. We will meet in an ordinary place to fulfill mundane duties, but we will know that what we have found in each other's hearts is nothing short of extraordinary._

_Ever yours,_

_Charles"_

"Mmmm," Elsie sighed contentedly. Her head rested on her pillow, her eyes were closed, and a smile was on her lips. "It's even better when you read it aloud to me."

"That was rather good, wasn't it?" Charles mused. With a few exceptions, he hadn't thought much about his letters after they were sent.

"More than good," she told him. "Marvelous. I must have read it ten times before I finally fell asleep that night."

Charles folded the letter back up and set it on his bedside table. "Are you tired?"

She nodded, pulling the blanket up to her neck. "I love you, Charles," she whispered before drifting off to sleep.

"I love you, Elsie." Charles watched his sleeping wife, but after a few minutes he began to feel drowsy, too, so he kissed her forehead gently and then lay down beside her. It was the middle of the day, but they both slept soundly, easy in each other's company, even in sleep.

_To be continued..._

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**


	38. Epilogue

**Be sure you have read the previous chapter before you read this one. This story was going to be 37 chapters long, but after I wrote and posted chapter 36, two more chapters were born. This epilogue, however, is really and truly the last chapter. Thank you for reading.**

There was no regular pattern, but from time to time Charles and Elsie wrote to one another even after their retired life had settled into a daily rhythm. There were always letters on special occasions, but letters and notes also turned up on ordinary days under Elsie's pillow or in the pocket of Charles's waistcoat, among other hiding places.

One evening, Charles came upstairs to find his wife in her nightgown, sitting up in bed and reading a letter. He watched her read as he changed into his pajamas. Just before he closed the wardrobe, he pulled a letter out of the pocket of the trousers he had been wearing. He climbed into bed with the letter in his hand and waited for Elsie to finish reading hers. When she looked up from the paper, smiling, he leaned over and kissed her.

"I'm glad you found my letter, Charles," she commented, noting the envelope in his hand. "I thought you would be reading that book today after dinner."

He chuckled. "Yes, you put it in just the right place. I'm a creature of habit, my dear, as well you know."

"I certainly do. I'm very glad today was not too much for you," she teased.

"Why should today be too much for me?" Charles frowned.

"We witnessed the world being turned on its head today."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Charles said. "Although I suppose it is rather unusual."

"It's not so unusual that we had such similar thoughts, though." Elsie indicated the letter in her hand.

"Not unusual at all," he agreed. "Sometimes I believe you think my thoughts before I do."

Elsie laughed. "And what happens at the Abbey now?"

Charles smiled. "I'm very glad that I have no part in finding an answer to that question."

Elsie pretended to be shocked. "Charles Carson! I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be content to leave the Crawleys to themselves!"

He curled up against her. "It's your fault, Elsie," he murmured. "Living with you has changed my priorities."

She smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."

"No more talk, my dear," Charles murmured, pulling her close and kissing her.

Elsie agreed without speaking.

#####

_Dear Elsie,_

_I hope you enjoyed today's ceremony as much as I did. It could never compare to ours, of course, but it was quite fine. I think a letter is most definitely in order to celebrate the first wedding we have attended since we were married. I've had the good fortune of attending many joyous wedding celebrations in my lifetime, but not all of them are so blissful as this one. It was especially gratifying to see the true happiness of today's bridal couple. They seem to have been made for one another. I shared a glass of wine with the groom last week and he seemed surprised at first when I spoke offhand of children; he had barely given it a thought. The notion seemed to make him smile even more than he had already. However, I must say that he was highly distracted. I ought to have known better than to expect serious conversation from him when his beloved was within sight or hearing. She passed us by several times while we were talking and I could see his eyes following her. I also recognized how he strained to hear her voice down the corridor. I could perceive in him that sort of all-consuming madness that is quite familiar to me. I am just glad that two such deserving people found one another._

_Our conversation made me think seriously on the subject of children. I can't say I haven't wondered in the last months how it might have been had you and I married when we were younger, and perhaps had a family of our own. I hope this is not a regret that troubles you, Elsie, but if it does, I am sorry for any disappointment wrought by my blindness. In truth, I am very happy just as I am, and I am not sure I would have been a very good husband fifteen or twenty years ago. I was not the same man then, and I might have been in danger of continuing to take you for granted. That is bad enough behavior toward a friend; it is even worse toward one's wife. I've made you wait, my dearest, but I like to think that your patience has been rewarded by your now being married to a better man than you would have if we'd been wed fifteen or twenty years ago._

_I love you, my sweet one. You were and are the most beautiful bride ever seen._

_Ever yours,_

_Charles_

#####

_Dear Charles,_

_Today isn't a holiday, but I think it is a special enough occasion to call for a letter. We watched two people in love being joined in holy matrimony. Can you think of a better day for a love letter? The ceremony was lovely and the bride and groom looked almost as happy as we did on our wedding day. Mr. Wendover and the former Mrs. Bute are so different from you and I, and yet there are similarities in our situations. They've not known one another for nearly as long as we have, and yet they seem somehow to understand each other so well. Watching them today I shouldn't think either of them cares one way or another, but I believe it possible that they will be blessed with a child, perhaps even several. What a joy it is that there are so many different forms of happiness!_

_Have you ever thought of what it might have been like if we had married when we were that young? I will admit I have thought of it, but I can't bring myself to regret that we did not. You have been well and truly mine for less than a year and I am happier than I could have imagined, but I feel like my whole life has been a good one. I was happy because I was successful and because I was by your side. You were not my husband, but you were my friend, something that has always meant a great deal to me. As for children, we had quite a few, in a way, borne by other mothers, but given into our keeping for a time. How many mothers and fathers might have envied us our time with their own beloved children?_

_I love you, dear one. This wedding has made me think of ours, although I remember very little of the preparations and ceremony. Mrs. Patmore and Anna were very kind, helping me dress that morning, and Mr. Branson teased me a little when I might have been nervous. I can't remember with any clarity who else was there or even all of the vows I repeated. I've forgotten most of it, because you were there and I could think of nothing else. I had heard the wedding day talked of as one of the happiest days of a person's life and I believed it, but there was no preparing me for the wonder of that day. I think it must be because there is nothing like the wonder of you, my man._

_I must conclude so I can secret this message away in some place where you will find it today and read it before you come up to bed. Whether you prefer a passionate embrace or simply a night of sweet dreams, my arms will be ready to welcome you. I love you._

_Ever yours,_

_Elsie_

The End.

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